


Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted

by ThroughtheMirrorDarkly



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, General Hospital
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dark, Drama, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Modern Assassins (Assassin's Creed), More Tags Pending, Reincarnation, Revenge, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-05-26 03:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14991635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly/pseuds/ThroughtheMirrorDarkly
Summary: When Elizabeth Webber is drowning in grief of a tragedy no parent ever hopes to face, memories of a distant past stir across the sands of time of a man named Bayek and a war that was fought in the shadows. As she navigates the water of sanity and insanity, she starts to realize that the war isn’t some distant dream, but one that is being fought right on her front door.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing from General Hospital, or Assassin’s Creed. This is not for profit, but for me to enhance my writing skills and hopefully the enjoyment of readers.  
> Summary: When Elizabeth Webber is drowning in grief of a tragedy no parent ever hopes to face, memories of a distant past stir across the sands of time of a man and a war that was fought in the shadows. As she navigates the water of sanity and insanity, she starts to realize that the war isn’t some distant dream, but one that is being fought right on her front door.   
> Author’s Note: For those who don’t know General Hospital but AC fans, the only thing that you really need to know about the show is that it is a Soap Opera. Soap Operas tend to have overdramatic story and exaggerated stories. While I will be taking a realistic approach to these characters as I can, you have to understand that the history of the show and certain characters is over the top in almost every aspect. Affairs, scandals, and more. That being said you AC fans don’t have to know the show or it’s history. This is an Alternative Universe that I am setting up as opposed to General Hospital cannon. The main reason for this is because my fav, Elizabeth Webber, who the story is centered around has been written poorly by the writers many times through her twenty years on the show. Things that I have felt weren’t true to the heart of this character that I loved, so I have edited bits that I just plain didn’t like or felt were too OOC in an effort to correct this. I want to write her in a way that I feel is true, and how I wish GH had honored this legacy character. So AC fans don’t despair, I will explain the history of the story and universe as it goes along, and if you still have questions, feel free to comment below and I will do my best to clear things up.   
> For those who are GH fans, but don’t know Assassin’s Creed, I’ll give you a brief synopsis (it’s easier to do this for the game, than a show that’s been on 55 years): “For centuries, a hidden war has been taking places in the shadows between two fractions. The Templars, who wish to attempt to use Pieces of Eden--objects of significant power that can shape the world and bend humanity to their will--under the guise of protecting the world through order when all they really want is to subvert mankind’s free will to rule over the world as Kings or Gods. The Assassins, who wish to stop the Templars heinous plans, by protecting and championing free will so that mankind may find and determine their own fates. They work in the dark to serve the light, and fight the never ending battle with the Templar, and also in efforts to stop the end of the world. (Also any personal history from the games such as characters will be explained as the story unfolds, if they are relevant.)  
> Primary differences in GH cannon: ***Liz and Ric dated until Ric drugged Carly, making her believe they slept together. Liz didn’t do second wedding with Lucky. She was smart enough to know those relationships weren’t healthy. No LnL2 reunion in 2009, and no Niz affair in 2010, that also means that Elizabeth’s third son is not born. Sorry. Cameron, Elizabeth‘s first born, father is not Zander, but someone who will revealed later in the story. Any other changes, will be made clear through the story.*** (And obviously since this story is set in 2011, anything thereafter this point will be null and void.)  
> Warning: Not Character Friendly to Certain GH Characters.   
> Primary difference in AC cannon: ***Only that the movie and the games are in the same universe, and that Cal Lynch will have a part in this story later on.***   
> HISTORY FACTS: Did you know that Cleopatra one of the most arguably famous women of ancient Egypt was actually the seventh woman born into the Ptolemy line that born the name Cleopatra? Cleopatra means, Glory of the Father. There were also several different men through the Ptolemy Dynasty tree, named Ptolemy. Even brothers and sisters could have the same name! Apparently the Ptolemies were not very creative with names. Also when pronouncing the word Ptolemy, the P is silent as a mouse.

Nothing is True 

By ThroughtheMirrorDarkly

* * *

Chapter One 

“A Stone Tossed into the Water…”

_March 23, 2011_

_Port Charles, New York_

_Webber Residence_

The house was still and dark, only the soft creaking of the wood settling was the only noise that broken the deafening silence. A deep and lasting sorrow the kind that only came in the wake of a horrible tragedy filled the air. It was a sharp, so bitter that it was painful feeling and it plagued Elizabeth Webber even as she slept restlessly in her bed. She was slight thing, standing only three inches of five feet tall. Her thin, graceful limbs that gave her a waif-like appearance yet still had gentle womanly curves in all the right places. The waves of dark hair were sprawled out across her pillow, and her generous mouth formed into a deep frown. Her jaw set tight, her brows furrowed together in a knot. She was what one would call a classical beauty with her alabaster skin, high swept cheek bones and small nose that was turned up at the tip ever so slightly. Her eyes clenched shut, and the pulse at her throat started to hammer wildly. An ancient language, a tongue spoken by Egyptians in ages since past, tumbled from her lips and she rolled restlessly across the mattress caught in throes of a vivid and realistic dream. 

_It was a sunny day. Blinding and bright, the air was hot and smelt of desert sand. It was the Siwa Oasis, a small part of the vast land that was Egypt. The year was 49 BCE, and the Pharaoh Ptolemy III was leading a grand caravan with houdahs strapped to the backs of great elephants that were made of vivid colored silks, and embedded with gemstones that shined like starlight in the sun. This trip through the region as a demonstration of his wealth and power for he was just a boy of twelve years old, whom had exiled his older sister and wife Cleopatra to Alexandria in order to rule the throne alone. A twelve year old boy, and he was the most powerful person in all of Egypt._

_Through the great canyons that led down to the valley and to the city of Siwa. The city was cradled between the towering buttes and mountains in the north, and the endless desert to the south. The water—the oasis that preserved the village and allowed it to flourish was set to the west, through thickets of palm trees and light vegetation._

_Bayek of Siwa was a tall man with dark skin, and golden eyes that rivaled the sharpness of the sun. His head and face shaved of all hair, enhancing the sensual and masculine planes of his features. His armor and clothing were that of a Medjay, and the badge with the Eye of Horus upon it. The Medjay had come far from the days of old where they were protectors of the pharaoh. Now, the numbers of Medjay had dwindled, and only a few like he served as protectors for all of Egypt. Even with the phylakitai who were to police and hold up the law, the sons and daughters of Egypt still looked to the Medjay to be there as protectors. He walked through the village of Siwa, his home watching the villagers bustle about in excitement of the Pharaoh’s arrival._

_A cry from an eagle came from above, and Bayek looked up at the eagle that swooped down towards him. He held out his arm, and the great bird landed on it without hesitation. This was Senu—his eyes and his guide through the most treacherous parts of the desert—and he stroked her feathers, with a fond smile playing across his lips. He jolted when something soft tickled the shell of his ear, and he turn sharply to see his beautiful wife, Aya. She twirled an arrow between her fingers, and grinned up at him with a mischievous look on her face._

_Her Grecian features were sharp and angular that only highlighted her strong feminine beauty, and her dark brown eyes were the color of honey and just as warm. Her skin had turned golden underneath the desert sun, and her black as night hair was braided with care, pulled out of her face. A flow of pure love and affection ached inside of Bayek’s chest upon sight of her, and his eyes sparkled with joy as he reached down to pull her hand in his. He brought her fingers up to his lips for a quick chaste kiss, and the two of them strode through the streets, hand in hand._

_They reached the main road that stretched through the city, and Bayek looked to his right to see a small figure climbing the latter. It was a child that was no more than eight years old reached the top, and turned to Bayek. He waved proudly at the Medjay, and Bayek—_

Elizabeth cried out in her sleep, her hand reaching up to her chest. A painful ache rippled through her from head to toe, enhancing the heartache that she already felt on a daily basis. Her teeth gnashed together, and her head thrashed back against the pillow. Her breaths came in short and shallow gasp, but even this was not enough to pull her from her dreams. 

_The ground shook as the elephants stomped through the streets, but there were not screams of alarm, but once of excitement that fluttered through the masses. Bayek and Aya stood beside the priest when the Pharaoh’s caravan made up of soldiers and servants marched their way down the streets. Bayek narrowed his eyes against the sunset, to see the young Pharaoh sitting mightily on top the elephant. He looked so young, with a smile upon his face as he waved down the people who eagerly soaked up the attention sent to the by the young Pharaoh whom was all of Egypt’s conduit to the Gods. He watched the young Ptolemy’s eyes turn towards the priest, and then where the Medjay stood with his wife._

_Two figures inside of the houdah with the pharaoh could now be seen. They wore ritual masks that were made out of green stone, and resemble the pharaohs from the Old Kingdom. One of them leaned forward, and whispered something into the young Pharaoh’s ear._

_Bayek felt a foreboding sensation settle deep in his heart._

The dreams started to flicker and come undone, like a broken reel of film. Images passed by too fast for her to ascertain what they were, and Bayek’s screams rang out in her ear drums as clear as if he had been standing beside her. Finally, the dream settled into a new and much darker scene than before. 

_The inside of the Bent Pyramid was dark and cold. The walls and stone on the inside cannot be touched by the light of the sun, and Bayek walked forward picking up the mask off of the ground. It was the same kind of mask of the ones who stood behind Pharaoh Ptolemy on the houdah that fateful day. Bayek was bloodied and bruised, as if he had been in a great fight for his life. His hair had grown out, shaggy and tied back half-heartedly out of his face. His beard was scraggly and unkempt. Dark circles sat underneath Bayek’s golden eyes, and the madness of rage burned deep within the depths of his heart. He looked down at the sniveling and cowardly man, Rudjek, who crawled away from him to the best of his ability. The jewels and precious metals that were sown onto the man’s expensive cloth clicked and clanked as he stared fearfully up at the Medjay._

_“You are the Medjay from Siwa? I thought Medjays were supposed to protect the pharaoh?” Rudjek gasped, his great jowl waggled in tandem with his body that quaked with fear._

_Bayek’s upper lip curled in a snarl, and he grasped the arrow stuck into his upper thigh. It hadn’t gone deep enough to be fatal, but far enough that pain burned through his muscles as he ripped it out. His cold and deadly gaze swept back to Rudjek. “I am Medjay to no pharaoh,” he growled out, his voice rough with exertion and pain. He used the arrow and pointed to a tattoo on his upper right arm. “You see this?”_

_“I can read my own name, nek!” Rubjek cried out._

_Bayek bared his teeth like a wolf, and then he dragged the tip of the arrow across the tattoo. It was a statement, marking out the name as if it had been merely another thing on a checklist in such a painful and agonizing way. A powerful statement that by marking it out, that Rubjek would be marked out and that he would die in this dark, dank tomb with knowing on fear in his last moments._

_Rubjek’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “We will find you. We will find you, in your sleep!” He reached into his robes, and grasped a small knife. He threw it at Bayek in one desperate attempt to kill the Medjay and save his life._

_Bayek reacted, bringing the mask up as a shield. His golden eyes stared at the tip of the knife that was only inches away from his face. If he had not instinctively raised the mask to shield him, the knife would have killed him. The dark rage that coursed through his veins ignited once more, and he strode towards Rubjek with a gait as lethal as a lion. “Sleep? I never sleep. I just wait. In the shadows,” he growled out, kneeling down to the other man. He caught the arm that attempted to strike out at him. He held in a vice grip and got satisfaction when Rubjek whimpered in pain and he raised the mask, the knife pointed downward towards Rubjek‘s face. “And I will kill you all! Everyone who sniffed the air that day in Siwa!”_

_And he shoved the mask onto Rubjek, the knife imbedded with a sickeningly wet thud into the man’s head._

Elizabeth jolted awake at the copper taste that flooded her mouth, and she pressed her palm against her lips only to pull it back to see drops of blood that stood out against her pale skin. She cursed underneath her breath, gingerly reaching into her mouth to feel the side of her cheek that she had bitten down on and wince at the sting of pain that lanced through her face. She hadn’t bit clean through it, but it was a harsh enough bite that she would be feeling it for days. Though, truth be told, the pain was a welcomed change to the cold numbness that enveloped most of her day where grief and rage did not. Her heart was pounding wild and untamed against her ribcage, and her mind turned to the bizarre dream. 

She could still feel it—the rage, anger and sorrow that beat through Bayek’s blood and heart. It echoed the one that was inexplicably tied to her own soul, and she wondered if this strange dream was just a way of processing her grief. With shaky legs, Elizabeth got out of bed and stumbled her way to the adjacent bathroom. She twisted the steel handle, and cold water flowed down in the sink below. She cupped the water with her hands, and then sipped it up. She gurgled the water for a moment, and then spit it out into the sink. Specs of bloody water painted the bottom of the white bowl red, and she watched with a strange fascination as the water washed it all away. 

Her eyes then drifted upward to the little toy yellow motorcycle that had been placed beside the soap dispenser. Her heart slammed into the back of her throat, and her knees knocked together as a grief so powerful nearly sent her to the ground. But somehow, someway, she kept on standing. With a trembling hand, she grasped the toy and held it close to her heart as her wide blue eyes grew wet with tears. She sniffled loudly, and pressed her knuckles up to her mouth to quiet the sobs that wracked through her body. _I’m so sorry, baby. I am sorry mommy wasn’t there. I am sorry that mommy couldn’t protect you. My little Jakey_ , she thought, with scalding tears rolling down her cheeks. _I would give almost anything to change that night and get you back._

“Mommy?” 

Elizabeth jumped, turning to see her eldest boy, Cameron standing in the doorway to her bathroom. Cameron and Jake, her two boys, were like night and day. Cameron had her dark hair that hung around his face in curls and had brown eyes while Jake had his father’s blond hair and blue eyes. The two couldn’t be more apart in looks, but they had been inseparable. Jake had been Cameron’s little shadow, and idolized his big brother. The fissure inside her heart cracked, and grew wider at the thought of what her oldest son was going through. She drew in a shuddering breath, and hastily wiped away her tears while clutching the toy in a death grip. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Did I wake you?” She asked, her voice raw from the days she had spent screaming and crying. 

“No,” Cameron shook his head, his dark curls bouncing with the motion. “I…” The six year old boy ducked his head, and shuffled his feet nervously. “I had a nightmare, mommy.” 

“A nightmare?” Elizabeth asked, walking over to him. She knelt down so she was on eye level with her son, and gently pulled him into her arms. The void in her heart that had been carved out by loss was soothed ever so. It didn’t get rid of her pain of losing her youngest son, Jake, but knowing that one of her babies was safe and sound gave her a measure of comfort where well wishes could not. “Do you want to tell me about it? Was it…was it about Jake?” 

Cameron nodded, his dark eyes welled up with tears. “He hates me, mommy.” 

“Oh, baby, that’s not true,” Elizabeth said, fighting to keep her voice level. Fresh tears stung at her eyes, and she lifted him into her arms holding him tight. “Jake would never hate you, sweetie. He loved and adored you. I don’t think there was a person in the world that he loved more.” 

“H-he…” Cameron hiccupped, his tears falling down his face like a water fountain. “He said that if-f I had j-just came down st-tairs and played with him, he w-would have gone outside! T-that he wouldn’t have gotten h-hit by the car!” 

Elizabeth heart broke anew. It had been broken so many times, but these new heartbreaks were more painful than anything she had to endure in her entire life. She carried her son downstairs to the living room, and sat him down on the couch. Getting the fuzzy red blanket that he liked the most out, she wrapped him up tight in and let him nestle into her side. “It’s not your fault, Cameron. It’s not,” she told him, stroking his hair gently. “It was just an accident. A horrible accident and it’s not your fault. Jake would never blame you for it.” 

“But my nightmare felt so _real_!” Cameron whispered, tearfully. 

“I know they do, sweetheart. But nightmares are like tricks,” Elizabeth said, handing him a tissue while using another to wipe his tearstained cheeks. She struggled with it, finding those words or explanation just like she did when she had to explain to Cameron why Jake was never coming home. There was no guide to grief, no easy way to heal wounds like these, but she had to try to help Cameron heal. Even if she couldn’t heal and broke apart, she would strive to make sure her little boy did not. “Tricks are cunning and sometimes really scary. But do you know what the enemy of a trick is?” 

“What?” Cameron asked, blowing his nose. 

“Time,” Elizabeth said, softly. She ran her fingers through his curls, and flipped the blanket that had slipped down just a bit. “Time reveals what a trick really is about. Tricks in time will give away what they really are. Nightmares are tricks, and they don’t last. But love…love like the one between brothers, like the one you and Jake shared, that surpasses time itself. It last forever like the light of the stars, it endures. Jake loves you, Cameron. Of all the things that will change in this life, that never will.” 

Cameron swallowed. “Mommy?” 

“Yes, honey?” 

“Do you think Jake is flying through the stars, trying to touch them? He always said he wanted to reach them,” Cameron said, quietly. 

“Yeah,” she said, with a watery laugh. The first smile in days crossed across her lips, and she pressed a kiss to Cameron’s forehead. “That sounds exactly like something he would be doing right now.” 

“Do you think we could look at the stars?” Her son asked, suddenly. “Maybe…maybe we’ll get to see Jake, if we look at the stars.” 

Elizabeth felt choked up, and nodded her head. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that wasn’t how things worked, and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Whatever you need, sweetie,” she whispered, closing her eyes tightly. “We are going to get through this together, I promise you.” 

It took a little while, but eventually she got Cameron to fall back to sleep. Sitting there with him in her arms, Elizabeth thought back to that horrible night. After a double shift at the hospital which had been hectic because of a bus accident, she had been so tired and exhausted. But mothers didn’t get a break, especially when it was their traditional movie night. She had left Jake on the landing where he happily played with his toys, like he had done so many times before and had went into the kitchen to finish up dinner really quick. The smoke alarm had gone off, blaring and all too loud. She had been in the midst of trying to climb the counter to reach it when she felt a cold draft move through the warm kitchen. The taste of winter air that lingered into March like an unwelcomed guest and instantly she knew something was wrong. 

She had abandoned the smoke alarm, and rushed into the living to find the front door wide open. Jake was nowhere to be seen. She could still feel the panic and the fear; even now they lingered in her soul and battered her with every breath she took. She remembered rushing to the door, hearing tires screech across the pavement. The headlights twinkled out of existence by the time she was off the porch, and that’s when she had seen her baby. He was lying on the side of the road, bloody and broken, with his yellow motorcycle clutched tight in his hand. Her throat burned with the scream she gave, and she rushed towards him. 

He had been so cold and his breaths were so shallow. They had got him to the hospital, and for agonizing hours, Elizabeth clung to hope that he would be alright. And then, all hoped died and in two days’ time, she would be burying her son. He would be put into the ground where there was no light, or life. She went over that time so many times, playing it on repeat in her head. She swore when she came inside with the last of the groceries that she locked the dead bolt—the one too high for even Cameron to reach, let alone Jake. She swore to herself, she remembered the feel of the metal beneath her fingers and she remembered twisting the lock, sealing the door tight. 

But it was a lie that her mind told herself to absolve the guilt in her heart. 

Her baby was dead, and it was all her fault. 

* * *

_48 BCE_

_Ruins on the outskirt of Siwa_

A desert storm raged on. 

The sand whirled around in a golden blur, grating abrasively against his skin that was exposed. Bayek had intended to seek shelter in the old ruins from the sand and heat, but his shadow that had pursued him ever since he left _Nitria_. His plans were dismantled when the towering brute finally had caught up, and launched a violent attack against him. He instantly recognized the man as Hypatos, Rubjek’s bodyguard and without a split second of warning the Greek that resembled more of a mountain in his shining and gleaming armor attacked. Bayek cursed himself while he ducked low to avoid his head being removed from his shoulders by the war mallet that Hypatos swung at him with lethal precision. He thought he had lost the man in the sandstorm. His sore muscles ached and pulsed with pain at every move that he made. He had pushed himself to the point of exhaustion, but he could not give up. 

Not when there was still so much to do. 

“You killed my master, and left me for dead! That was a mistake, Medjay!” Hypatos snarled, his voice held a metallic muffle because of his helm. The ground shook as Hypatos mallet struck it, narrowly missing Bayek who rolled out of the way. 

Bayek gripped the pommel of his sword, and held his shield at the ready. His golden eyes narrowed upon the man, and shook his head side to side. “Rubjek deserved his fate!” the Medjay countered, vehemently. “You, however, do not have to die here. I am not without mercy. Let us make a truce, you are not the one I have sworn to kill!” 

“I cannot. I am Rubjek’s swore bodyguard, and this is a matter of honor,” Hypatos spat, angrily. The two circled each other, waiting for the other to make a move. “I have no choice, but to bring my master’s murder to justice!” 

Blood lust roared in Bayek’s ears at the man’s defense of the cur he had slaughtered and left dead, abandoned in a that dark tomb. His gaze bled red with rage and he lunged forward with a roar off of his lips. “Your master was a murderer!” His blade clashed against Hypatos, and he slammed his shield as hard as he could into the Greek’s face. 

Hypatos let out a shout, and stumbled back. The bull of a man retaliated tenfold, and the battle spun onward, violent and spiraling towards death. The clangor of metal against metal that echoed through the ruins, like the beat of a broken song, and blood splattered across the sand, soaking deep into the desert. Sweat dripped off of Bayek’s brow into his eyes, every breath that rattled through him as harsh as swallowing sand, and pain splintered through him when Hypatos leveled him to the ground. His shield ripped from his arm, and he had to scramble back to dodge the war mallet. 

The mallet struck the stone beneath their feet, and there was a low rumble that followed. Neither man was prepared for the stones to shift, and the ground to give right out from underneath them. The sound of rocks weighing more than twenty men, impacted the ground below with an earth shattering thunder. The fall, nearly a hundred feet, made Bayek’s stomach slam up to the back of his throat, and he landed with such force against the sands that it made stars burst across his vision. With a grunt of pain, Bayek rolled himself onto his feet and glanced at his attacker. 

Hypatos was trapped beneath a large quarry stone, and was choking on his blood. His hands grasped at his chest, as if to pull the armor away to be able to breath. When he saw the Medjay approach, he reached despite the pain for his mallet that was just out of his hands reach. 

“I am sorry that this is the way of things,” Bayek told the dying man, with a twist of sympathy on his lips. He only sought vengeance against those that had destroyed what he had held so desperately dear, and despised the fact that men like Hypatos would be caught in the middle of his revenge. But he could not stop, not when he was so close to cutting the head of the Snake. “This was not an honorable death for a warrior such as yourself.” 

Hypatos growled something intelligible out, blood and spit dribbling down his chin. 

“Anubis awaits you,” Bayek said, bowing his head. He drew his blade clean across the Greek man’s throat. It was a quick and clean death, to spare the man further pain. The Medjay let out a deep breath, one that settled heavy in his chest and he held for a few moments before he released it. His eyes scanned his surrounding, and the opening above. There was no feasible way to climb back up, but these were ruins of a temple. It surely must have some kind of passage that led out of here, and his only hope that it had not fallen in and decayed like his current surroundings. 

Picking his shield off of the crowd and slinging it onto the holster upon his back, and sheathing his blade, Bayek began to scan the area with his intense and unwavering gaze. There was a unique ability that his bloodline had been blessed with. It was a heightened perception, his father had said. It allowed them to pick upon things that others would overlook, as if they could see deeper into the world and unravel little secrets. He had never been more grateful for such a gift then he was in this moment, when he felt something off with the far off corner wall. As he stumbled toward it, he saw scarabs—hundreds of them crawling along the wall—and while the beetles were not an uncommon sight, the number of them made his brow arch. 

_There must be an opening. The beetles can live in small spaces, but for such a great amount they would needed more room than the cracks between the stones,_ he reasoned, his mind weary with fatigue. Blood soaked into his clothes and made his arm shafted against his skin. His wounds pulsed with pain, but he had to keep going. He pressed his palms against the stone, and bent his knees, using his shoulder as leverage. The stone gave away and lifted it upward, revealing a secret passage. When he felt the stone click into place into the niches designed to hold it open, the Medjay ducked through the small space and crawled through the passageway before it opened up into a hall. 

Sand filtered down from the cracks in the ceiling, and the barest trace of sun light illuminated great statues of the Goddess and Gods in the distance, standing watchfully over the entrance. On nearby pillars, depictions of achievements as well as akhu had been painted by steady and thoughtful hands. Bayek always felt in awe at such hidden wonders, but he could not dawdle for long. He was in need of a healer, and the more time that slipped away, the more likely his enemies were to getting away. He walked across the sand, it shifted beneath each heavy step and he grunted with pain, when he had to vault up over a wall that had fallen over. 

Steadily, he made his way across the rumble and ruins until he could make out a bit of light in the distance. It seems so far away and half of him wondered if his addled mind from his wounds and the heat from riding relentless through the Great Sand Sea, a vast desert wasteland with no reprieve or water. He made his way through the great threshold, under the eyes of Iset and Osiris, and into grand room that was massive in size despite the fact that it was halfway filled with sand. Whomever this tomb or temple had been dedicated to, they had spared no expense on showcasing their importance and wealth. He carefully made his way down the slope and muttered to himself, “This must have been built centuries upon centuries ago.” 

The architecture was similar to things he had seen before, but there was a subtle difference. A telltale sign that it belonged to a time afore the one he lived in the hieroglyphs and paintings. He stepped on something that gave a metallic crunch beneath his foot, and he pulled back to see a chest. It had been nearly hidden away by the sand, but the faint gleam of gold coins and intricate pottery just visible. His stomach clenched tightly, and he bent downward. He hesitated for it was a great sin to take from a tomb, no matter how old and broken it was. “Forgive me, great Amun. I have need of this,” he whispered, taking only three coins. He would not take more than was necessary to restore his depleted funds, because these treasures had been left here to be used in the afterlife of whoever this tomb belonged to. 

Putting the coins in his pouch, he used the pillar that had fallen over and sat up on an incline to get himself up high to have a better vantage point on the room. He climbed over the necking of the lotus style pillar, and jumped across the relatively flat surface of a broken column before he reached the nearby balcony. He made his way towards a passageway to the left, but found himself at a dead end drop off. Wondering what was below, he grabbed a torch off the nearby wall and broke the seal on the oil jar beneath it. The smell of the oil was powerful and pungent, but the seal had held good keeping the oil fresh. He dipped the tip of the torch into the liquid allowing it to soak up, and carefully wiped it off so that none dripped down onto his fingers. He used his piece of flint and his small dagger to create a spark. After two tries, the torch whooshed to life as the spark eagerly became a flame. 

He lowered his torch to light the dark room below the best he could, and the vast treasure below glinted in the firelight. “Riches of the ancients,” Bayek whispered, shocked by the treasure undefiled by bandits and scavengers. The tomb had been exceedingly well hidden to escape such a fate. It had no further passages below, just solid walls that offered no way out. With a heavy sigh, he turned back around and made his way back to the main room. He walked further to the end of the balcony, and narrowed his eyes towards the glow of light in the distance. He would have to leap across the beams to reach the other area, and the threshold that went further into the temple. 

His body cringed at such a thought, but he had no choice. He could not allow himself to wither and die in such a place. No, he had no right to rest when that which he loved most had been denied such. He steeled himself against the pain, and clutched his torch in a knuckle white grip. He broke into a run, gaining as much speed and as soon as his feet hit the edge, he leapt through the air. His feet slapped against the first beam, but he kept moving forward. He needed the momentum to make each jump, and after two more leaps, he was mercifully on solid ground. 

With his free hand, Bayek rubbed his bleary eyes. He could feel the vitality of his body draining away and the urge to sink to his knees grew tenfold. He squared his shoulders, and moved forward towards the great effigies of Horus. Behind the depictions of the god’s head, light flowed inward in a spot that was just big enough for him to slip through. “By Ra, finally there is light!” Bayek said, abandoning the torch against the sandy floor. He walked up to the sculpture, his eyes scanned it for foothold and handholds in which to scale it. Rolling the tension from his shoulders, he began to climb upward. Each movement had to be sure and one false move could send him flying down to the unforgiving ground, and it only took one unlucky fall to end a man. 

He reached the ledge, and rested his head against the cool stone wall. His temples pounded with agony, and his wounds burned like they had been immersed in Greek Fire. He gnashed his teeth together, and stood upright away from the wall. There was a broken piece of the wall that allowed the sunlight through, and with careful maneuvering he managed to squeeze through. He drew in a deep breath of fresh air, relishing in the taste of it and the beautifully feeling of sunlight against his skin. His solace was short lived when he heard the sound of shouts from below. 

Opening his golden eyes, he narrowed them on the figures fighting at the temple entrance. “Soldiers. Of course,” Bayek whispered, wearily underneath his breath. He climbed down, using the sand to break his fall. He rushed forward, wondering just who the soldiers were battling against. 

“Where is your medjay friend?” One soldier demanded, loudly. 

Their mysterious opponent gave no response other than to lash out with his sword. The man whipped around, allowing Bayek his first glimpse at his face and his heart jolted with shock. It was his best friend, Hepzefa! A sense of renewed purpose washed over him, and he withdrew his sword from its sheath. 

“What was that?” The closest soldier said, turning around. His eyes widened comically at the sight of bloody and mad looking Medjay coming towards him, and barely had time to shout in surprise when the end of Bayek’s sword cleaved clean through his neck. “Hepzefa! Watch out!” 

Hepzefa dodged the sword, and slashed the soldier through the gut. He turned towards Bayek, a smile split his face. “Bayek! Is that you?” 

“In the flesh!” Bayek smirked, sliding his sword away. He gestured to the dead guards at their feet, and stated with a trace of humor in his voice. “I see you have made new friends.” 

“They were setting up an ambush,” Hepzefa said, dropping his old sword to the ground. He wiped the sweat from his brow before he picked up one of the swords the soldiers’ had dropped. Checking it over to make sure it was a generic style type of sword with no specialized markings, Hepzefa claimed it as his own. “It is a good thing I came to welcome you, huh?” 

Hepzefa put the blade away, and then clasped hands with Bayek, both happy to see one another. “It’s been months. Look at that beard. It feels good to get out and fight!” Hepzefa commented, with a wry grin and released his friend. “I am out of practice. In Siwa, everyone defers to the soldiers on pain of death…or worse.” 

Bayek absorbed that. He supposed he should not be surprised that the soldiers had taken over Siwa in such a manner, especially given the militant rule that Ptolemy had imposed on all of Egypt. His eyes lifted from the desert sands, and he looked at his friend. “I’ve killed one of the masked ones. Rubjek known as The Heron,” he confided, solemnly. 

Hepzefa’s face grew sober and he bowed his head. “Four more then.” 

“Yes,” Bayek said, hands clenched at his sides. For a brief moment, the pair fell in silence. The tragedy that had left a void in Bayek had also shaken Siwa and its residents to their core. The sorrow born on that day, and the blood shed was a stain that could never be removed. 

“Come, it has been a long road,” Hepzefa finally broke the silence. “You need rest.” 

“No, no rest. Not until all the masked ones’ guts lie baking in the sand,” Bayek replied, watching Hepzefa mount his camel. 

Hepzefa smiled, slightly. “Gods, I have missed you my stubborn friend. Where is your mount? Surely, you do not intend to walk all the way to Siwa?” He arched a brow at his friend. 

Bayek rolled his eyes, slightly. He made his way to where his camel was tied up, and made sure that no beast or person had harmed him. “Good boy,” Bayek stroked the camel’s neck, gently. He pulled himself up onto the saddle, and rejoined Hepzefa who waited patiently. 

“Let us go, my brother.” 

The two Medjay rushed through the desert across the warms sands with the sun beating down upon, and the wind roaring past them. Vultures circled lazily in the distance, having found some poor soul to feast upon. “How have you been holding up?” Bayek asked. He had been gone from home, and it was not safe to send or receive word from Siwa given the nature of his hunt. 

“It has been difficult, Bayek. Without you, the villagers look to me to keep order. But the soldiers have set up a garrison and they rule over all,” Hepzefa informed him, with a deep frown. 

“An entire garrison in Siwa?” Bayek was shocked. Siwa was a small oasis town, hardly large enough to assemble a whole garrison at. He wondered briefly if this had something to do with masked ones, and what they desired to unleash all those months ago. Such thoughts spark a fire in the base of his mind, and his jaw set tight. 

“Ptolemy wants the entire region kept under heel. I do my best to keep the villagers out of trouble. I could use your help,” Hepzefa admitted, on a sigh. 

Bayek nodded, without hesitance. “I will do what I can. But do not forget. I have my own justice to pursue.” 

Hepzefa smiled. “I knew I could count on you, _seni_.” 

The vultures that had been in the distance now flew up ahead, and Bayek’s stomach lurched when he realized what had drawn a great number of them to the area. The smell of ash and death perfumed the air, pungent and harsh. The small farming village just outside of the main heart of Siwa had been burnt to ashes, with only broken and blackened stone walls remaining. A few bodies that had yet to be collected, burnt beyond all recognition and their features twisted into agony. “By the Gods, what happened here?” Bayek asked, horrified. 

“The garrison soldiers are brutal. If they suspect a villager is lying to them, they burn his neighborhood. And worse…much worse,” Hepzefa said, in a sorrowful and exhausted tone. 

Bayek looked at Hepzefa, and realized that he was not the only who bore heavy burdens. It must be a fine line that Hepzefa walked, trying to protect the villagers the best he could without incurring the garrison’s wrath. The two road beyond the devastation in silence, with the beat of the vultures’ wings fading into the distance. The road had never seemed so long as it did now, Bayek mused. A never ending stretch to a destination that he both fear and craved to see once more, and his heart beat loudly in his chest as the two men pulled to a halt. 

“Welcome home, Bayek. Siwa has missed you.” 

Bayek did not reply. Too much came at him, too many emotions and memories, and he was at a completely loss at what to feel being back at the start…the start where everything had fallen apart. 

* * *

_Present Day_

_Webber Residence_

Elizabeth awoke to a rapping at her door, and blinked her bleary eyes open. She looked down at the empty spot beside her, the red blanket unfurled and Cameron was nowhere in sight. A blistering panic tore through her heart, and she jumped to her feet, her eyes darting around wildly. Anxiety stole into her lungs and made it very hard to breath. _No, no, not again! I can’t lose another one of my babies! I can’t!_ The thoughts tore through her mind, wildly and she rushed towards the door. She ripped it open, and pushed back the couple standing there. 

“Elizabeth? Elizabeth, what’s wrong?” Steve Lars Webber, Elizabeth’s brother, asked, worriedly. He was a tall man with sandy colored hair, and hazel eyes. He reached out and touched her shoulder, only to hold up his hands in a surrendering gesture when Elizabeth recoiled away from his touch. 

“Cameron? Where’s Cameron?” Elizabeth demanded, her eyes flickered to the road. She saw images of Jake’s broken body, the blood and how cold he had been burned white-hot in her mind’s eye. She couldn’t lose Cameron the same way. She couldn’t. It would break her so badly, she’d never find all the pieces. 

“Elizabeth, he is with Audrey,” Olivia Falconeri said, gently. She was Steve’s fiancée, and a somewhat friend to Elizabeth. She had bright auburn hair, and big brown eyes, and a distinctive Boston accent. “She is taking him to the zoo today, and picked him up a couple of hours ago.” 

Elizabeth froze in step, her hands quaked in the air before dropping her sides. Fragments of the morning came back to her and she vaguely recalled Audrey coming into the house. Her and Cameron had fallen asleep on the couch after their talk, and she had gotten him ready. She remembered Audrey telling her goodbye and giving Cameron a hung. She remembered the fear that crawled across her skin to let her son out of sight, and she recalled taking a sleeping pill to slip back into oblivion in order to hide from the growing anxiety. _Bayek found Hepzefa and made it back to Siwa_ , she thought, and then shook her head. The dreams weren’t important, she didn’t know why they plagued her so. 

“I…I can’t believe I forgot,” Elizabeth whispered, running her hands through her hair. 

“Elizabeth, are you sure you are alright? We can do this for you, if you need to stay—” Olivia offered, genially. 

Elizabeth cut her off with a sharp shake of her head. “No. No, I have to do this. I need…to be the one that makes the arrangements for the burial,” she said, the words tore up her throat like sandpaper. She felt horribly sick to her stomach, and her jaw clenched then unclenched. “I meant to take a shower and be ready by the time you all got here. I am so sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry, peanut,” Steve said, pulling her into a light hug. “You don’t have to be sorry about anything, alright? You just go upstairs and get ready, we’ll be waiting patiently. Okay?” 

“Okay,” she nodded. 

Elizabeth trod up the stairs; each step seemed to all her energy and courage. She made it the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and she turned on the shower water to muffle the sound of tears. 

* * *

Olivia stood in Elizabeth’s kitchen, in the silence of the house that usually was so warm and welcoming. It was now so cold and empty, she shook her head slowly at the site of casserole dishes that sat neglected on the counters. “I never really understood the purpose of people showing up with food when someone was going through a terrible loss. It isn’t for the person grieving,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s for the other people, so that they can feel like they’re doing something, anything in an impossible situation.” 

“Believe me, if I could make a casserole, I’d be doing it right now. I have tried fielding phone calls, taking care of what Elizabeth needs, but my sister is just in this dark place that I can’t even imagine let alone know how to help her out of,” Steve sighed, heavily. “I don’t know how to help her through this.” 

“You’re taking care of Elizabeth, and believe me, she appreciates it,” Olivia told him, turning to her boyfriend. She wrapped her arms around him tight, and leaned her head on her shoulder. 

“Jake was a special kid. And I know, I know that’s what family members always say, but he really was. He was bright, he was determined. And I think about the hospital and the miracles that happened there every day. Why didn’t Jake get one?” Steve asked, with tears in his eyes. 

* * *

Elizabeth’s tears dried up, eventually. She stood there numbly for several moments afterwards, trying to remember just how to breathe. Her hands moved with a mind of their own, pouring the shampoo into her palm and working it into her hair. She didn’t even flinch when shampoo ran down her face and got into her eyes, burning painfully. A part of her wanted the pain, it made her feel alive as much as it felt like a fitting punishment for not preventing her baby’s death. Washing the shampoo away, the dull ache in between her eyes seemed to grow more intense. There was pounding in her skull, it increased with each heartbeat until it was a migraine of crippling proportions. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to ease the sudden agony when she felt her eyeballs strain. It was such a peculiar feeling, like stretching out an unused muscle and the world around went grey. 

Every one of her sense was punctuated in this grey haze. The sound of the water crashing to the shower door sounded like thunder, the edges of the tiles and shower seemed sharper like she could see them more clearly, and the peach shampoo was overpowering. The shower water against her skin was like being raked raw with a cheese grater, and she pushed her way out of the shower, stumbling over her own feet. Fear pounded through her veins, Elizabeth didn’t understand what happened. 

She caught herself on the sink, and looked up in the mirror. It was like seeing the world in negative, and her face looked so strangely alien and familiar, with panic etched into every feature. The same twinge filtered through her eyes, and she released a harsh breath when suddenly the world went back to normal. She stood there, shaken and not sure what that was. “It’s the lack of sleep,” she whispered, trying to convince herself. “It’s just the stress. That’s all it is.” 

She couldn’t be going crazy. 

She just couldn’t. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: From here on out, the scenes from Bayek and Elizabeth will be separated by lines and such. It will not be often that Elizabeth has dream sequences of Bayek like in the start of the story, if ever again. The past and present events will be separate, though we will see the impact of Elizabeth remembering her past life as Bayek. (Bayek’s part is actually easier to write because it will overall—aside from dialogue edits sparingly added and certain things to be more realistic than gamey—follow the canon of the game. Elizabeth’s and General Hospital is departure from cannon, so I’m literally making it up as I go.)  
> * Bayek’s Fight Scene with Hypatos—in the game, after they fall the fight continues. I get that the point was to have the player get used to the fighting dynamics of the game, but realistically speaking two people falling from a roughly fifty foot drop with large stones that weigh a ton and are massive, someone was bound to get hurt. **It will not be often that I stray from the Origins script, and events.**  
> ** GH NOTE: One of my pet peeves that will come off in my writing is Elizabeth’s disdain for people trying to control and run her life. For years, this character was made from an independent strong woman who survived horrible things, into a doormat for others to walk on. She lost her voice and self in the mess that the writers created and I wanted to give her spine back.  
> **AC NOTE: Elizabeth’s little incident at the end of the chapter will be explained later, and why I chose to portray that—which you likely have inkling of what it is—and why Elizabeth has it.   
> ***TERMS AND REFERENCES  
> 1.) A howdah or houdah derived from the Arabic hawdaj means “bed carried by a camel”. It also known under the term, hathi howdah, it is a carriage which is positioned on the back of an elephant, or occasionally some other animals such as camels. It was used to carry the wealthy, and was often adorned with decorations, even gemstones to demonstrate the owner’s wealth and power.  
> 2.) Ptolemy XIII was the pharaoh of Egypt, and ascended to the throne in 51 BCE at the age of ten. He married his sister Cleopatra, whom was a few years older than him and had been serving alongside of their father as ruler until his passing. This was not done out of affection, and Cleopatra used it as a way to continue to rule and cement her place on the throne she thought was hers. In 49 BCE, Ptolemy exiled Cleopatra for he wanted to rule of Egypt to fall solely to him. Given his age and youth, it was likely that his council had encouraged this choice and saw him as a more pliable puppet than his sister was.  
> 3.) Palm Trees—I actually had to look and make sure that this was a fact. Yes, ancient Egyptian had palm trees, called Date Palm which the fruit known as dates were harvested for food and wine. Egyptians knew how to pollinate such trees by hand, but sadly, the tree itself can no longer be found in Egypt in modern times.   
> 4.) Medjay (also spelled as Medjai, Mazoi, Madjai, Mejay) as were the elite Egyptian military unit who acted as the ultimate sworn guardians of the Pharaoh and the nation. More than just a police force, at their peak, they were highly esteemed and perceived as the very symbol of true honor and courage.   
> 5.) Phylakitai (or police) were a police force in layman’s terms though they did handle more than just police type duties. The term phylakitai is Greek and given the great prejudice in Egypt at the time against born and bred Egyptians who were only allowed to have certain roles in military and other things, I wouldn’t think that many would get to be phylakitai. But beyond the in game lore of Assassin’s Creed: Origins, I haven’t been able to really learn more about them. I will, of course, for the sake of being factual throughout the story as best can be.   
> 6.) Nek is as far as I know a curse word. It either means ‘shit’ or ‘damn’ though I can’t find any clear translation for it, when I do I will let you all know. From what I have seen and played of the game, it seems to be a universal word that is used to curse something or someone.   
> 7.) Nitria was a town in the Saqqara Nome during ancient Egyptian times. It was named Nitria because the vast amounts of natron—a salt used by Egyptians for the embalming of mummies.   
> 8.) Nome—administrative district or territorial division. This is actually a Greek term, and the Egyptian term is sepat or spAt. Each nome was ruled by a nomarch, an administration official. The number of nomes changed a great many times. At one point there were 22 in upper Egypt and 20 in lower Egypt.  
> 9.) Ahku—spell/enchantment/sorcery.   
> 10.) Lotus Pillars—one of the first style of pillars or columns in Ancient Egyptian. It is called Lotus because of the abacus and echinus (the top parts of pillars and columns) resembled a lotus flower.  
> 11.) Seni—the translation given in the AC Origins script is “brother”.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing from General Hospital, or Assassin’s Creed. This is not for profit, but for me to enhance my writing skills and hopefully the enjoyment of readers.
> 
> I want to thank the two guests for the kudos.  
> I want to thank Andria for the bookmark! :D  
> Please bear in mind Elizabeth isn’t at the point of revenge that Bayek is, but the story will work up to her getting on a path to avenge her son eventually. This time for Elizabeth is like the period of time between the tragedy that happened to Bayek to where we see him in the Bent Pyrimad killing Rubjek. But around chapter five it shall start pick up on the action, but regardless I hope it impacts you in the feels and is enjoyable until then.  
> History Facts: While the Plotemy Dynasty is the last Pharaohs of Egypt, they are not actually of Egyptian blood. They were almost of pure Macedonian descent, possibly some Iranian, but no Egyptian. The dynasty ruled from 323 BCE the time period of Alexander the Great to about 30 BCE.

* * *

Chapter Two 

“The Deeper Hell”

* * *

_March 23, 2011_

_Port Charles, New York_

_Cedar’s Mortuary_

No parent should have to pick out a casket to bury a child. 

It was all Elizabeth could think about, staying at the coffins that were so small and tiny. It was all she could focus on. She felt like her head was underneath water, barely hearing the funeral shop owner going over what they were made out of, and what quality was better. She didn’t even hear Steve or Olivia replying to the man. All she could think was how tiny the coffin was that her son would be laid in, and how he would be buried deep in the ground. The coffin would be lowered where it was cold and dark, where he couldn’t get up again. It shattered something deep within her, and her hands trembled against the abrasive fabric of her jeans. If the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off, if she had insisted that Jake go upstairs with Cameron, so many scenarios filled her mind until the point of madness and she wished with all her heart she could unravel that night, rewrite it with a better ending. 

She had tried to halt the thoughts, to no give into the darkness slithering insidiously through her skull and rattling about, driving any trace of warmth in these quite, lonely moments. The thoughts and pain build upon one another until it is towered over her, casting her in a great shadow. It gives her just enough light to show how suffocating and terrifying its power can be. Cameron was a bright spot, but she could not rely on her oldest—and now only—child to put the pieces back together. It was not fair to place a burden on his shoulders like that. She was the parent, she was the one that was meant to fix things, not break them. So she drew in a deep breath, her blue eyes focused on the caskets and her hand traced the stained maple world with shaking fingers. This was a horrible choice, and one that she had to make whether she liked it or not. 

Putting it off would not bring Jake back, only delay and make the pain worse—if such a thing were possible. “This one,” she decided, her tone lifeless and flat. 

“Elizabeth, are you sure?” Steve blinked in her direction. 

“Yes,” she replied, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. She just wanted this over with. She wanted out of this buildings filled with coffins and away from the stench of death she could smell coming out of the vents from below. It choked her, corroding away at her soul and she needed to be free of it. She pulled out her card to have Steve pay for the coffin, she had enough in savings that should cover the cost. “I’ll be outside. I need fresh air.” 

“I can come wi—” Olivia started to offer, but a sharp shake of Elizabeth’s head cut her off. 

“I need to be alone,” Elizabeth whispered. She made her way out of the show room and was grateful that no one followed. She rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of a familiar brunette in a leather jacket making a hasty escape through the door. Rage lashed through her white hot and unforgiving, and Elizabeth marched after the woman with fury in every step. She shoved the door open, the bell clanging loudly and caught Sam McCall by the arm before she made it down the last concrete step. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“What the hell, Elizabeth?” Sam snapped. “Let me go.” 

Elizabeth didn’t. “I want to know why the hell you are skulking around here. You haven’t lost any loved ones, you have no reason to be here, and yet you show up on the day that I’m getting my son’s casket?” The nurse stated, her voice trembled with a cold ferocity. She had a long and unflattering history with Sam that many believed solely revolved around the man both had loved, Jason Morgan. No one knew the things that Sam had done to her family, and that was the real root of Elizabeth’s hatred for the woman. She remembered the vindicated look on Sam’s face the night that Jake passed away, the sheer relief that the only tie that she believed that Jason and Elizabeth had was severed forever. To see her now, brought up all that repressed anger except Elizabeth no longer had the patience to hold it back. 

Sam blanched, ripping her arm free of Elizabeth’s grasp and teetering dangerously on her six inch stiletto heels. She balanced herself with the hand railing at the last second to catch herself before she fell flat on her backside. “Look, I wasn’t intending on follow you here, alright?” Sam stated, defensively. Her dark eyes flashed with annoyance and her upper lip curled. “I just wanted to talk to you, but you haven’t been at the hospital and your brother has been threatening anyone who dares to think to show up on your doorstep.” 

“And why would I want to talk to you? We don’t like each other, Sam,” Elizabeth said, frostily. “We never have and never will.” 

“I don’t want to deal with you, either,” Sam retorted, hotly. “But Jason wants to be at his son’s funeral procession. He wants to have the people he loves there, too. Carly, Sonny and myself, but he just doesn’t know how to ask you.” 

Elizabeth could read between Sam’s words. She was implying that Elizabeth did not rank anywhere as a person that Jason cared about. If Jason wanted to be at the funeral, he would have come to talk to her personally. He would have never left it to Sam or someone else. “Let’s say that I believe you. I mean, I don’t, but let’s pretend for argument’s sake that you are telling the truth. Jason is more than welcome to come to the funeral. I’d say Sonny is, too. He would be there to support Jason, and I can be civil with him because while we haven’t been good friends, he certainly has never called my children bastards like Carly or watched my son get kidnapped like you.” 

Sam reeled back, shocked that the sheer amount of venom in Elizabeth’s voice. 

“You can stay away from my son’s funeral and feel free to tell Carly that applies to her, too,” Elizabeth told her, her blue eyes glittered like hard, polished stone. “I won’t have people who wished he never existed be there. It should be for the people that loved him, and put his welfare above their own. And—” Pain splintered through her skull, right between her eyes as if an ice pick had been buried there with a sharp and agonizing precision. 

“Elizabeth, are you alright?” Sam’s voice was distant against the blood rushing past her ear drums. 

Her vision warped, the colorful world around her dulled into grey except for Sam who lit up bright red like a beacon. The hair on the nape of her neck rose warningly, and every instinct in her body tensed preparing for a fight. Shaking her head, she pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes as if to somehow end the pain and lock it up tight. “Just go away, Sam. I have no patience to deal with you or anyone else.” 

Sam did not heed the request. “Look, I can’t leave until I know that you are going to let the people that love Jason be there for him. I get why you wouldn’t want Carly or I there, but I’m not asking for us. I’m asking for Jason. Can you not be selfish this one moment?” The brunette said, with a frustrated tone of voice. “I know it’s hard to do so given your history with Jason, but if you really loved him, you would try.” 

Elizabeth closed her eyes, and asked God for strength. She was sick and tired of people like Sam trying to rewrite the past, and paint her as some manipulative villain when that couldn’t be further from the truth. “Does it every get exhausting for you, Sam? I imagine that it must be,” Elizabeth said, dropping her hands from her face when the pain ebbed away. Her eyes opened and the world was back to normal. “You have always lived your life for someone else, particularly the man in your life. You contort and mangle yourself, sacrificing your soul and morals along the way. You bend and bend, until you on the verge of breaking just to fulfill whatever they want you to be. And then you have to restart the process all over again when the next set of eyes don’t like what they see.” 

Sam floundered, and then her eyes narrowed into a glower. “You know nothing about me.” 

“I used to be you, Sam,” Elizabeth retorted, with an eyebrow arched. “After Lucky’s miraculous return from the dead, I turned myself inside out for the people that I loved because I was so desperate for their love and for a place to belong that I didn’t see the damage until it was too late. I may not like you, Sam. I honestly never will forgive you after all the things you did to me and my children, but despite that I am going to give you the wake up that I wished someone had given me. Stop living a lie, stop being a lie. At the end of the day, when the lie falls apart and the mask shatters, you’ll have no one to save you but yourself.” 

Sam looked a tad shaken by her words, for a split second. “You think I want advice from a one woman wrecking ball? You screwed up your marriage with Lucky, and then your relationship with Jason, and now because of you, your kid is dead—” 

The palm of her hand cracked against the side of Sam’s face, and the woman stumbled back. She hadn’t meant to hit Sam, but the second the accusation left the brunette’s lips, Elizabeth felt her control snap like a rubber band. “Why don’t you shut your mouth about things you know nothing about, Sam? It keeps you from looking ignorant,” Elizabeth told her, her nostril flared with a wrathful breath. 

“What is going on here?” 

Elizabeth turned to see her brother and his girlfriend standing behind her with wide eyed expressions on their faces. “Nothing is going on here. Sam is just leaving,” she stated, her tone flinty and her blue eyes seemed to hold flecks of gold that glowed like burning hot coals. She took her debit card out of Steve’s hand as he numbly offered it. “Can you all drop me off at the house, or do I need to take a cab?” 

“We’ll take you,” Olivia reassured her. 

“Let’s go,” Elizabeth said, brushing past Sam without a glance back. 

Sam stormed off, and Elizabeth glowered at the woman until she disappeared out of sight. She could feel the tension vibrate along her spine, every ounce of her soul wanted to rip Sam’s throat right out of her neck. She swallowed the violent impulse, hating herself for giving into her rage even a little bit. She had never been one to allow her anger to control her or guide her, but Sam’s taunt had shattered what little self-control she had been desperately holding onto. She rubbed her tired eyes, and stepped towards the vehicle when a hand gently took her arm. She looked up at Steve with confusion written on her face. 

“You want to tell me what that was about?” Steve questioned, clear disapproval in his gaze. 

“Sam brings out the worst in me,” Elizabeth answered, vaguely. “Can we get going now?” 

“Elizabeth, you need to let go of whatever anger issues you have with Sam. I know that it hurt you greatly when Jason walked out of your life, but—” 

“My issues with Sam have little to nothing to do with Jason,” Elizabeth interrupted him, eyes narrowed dangerously. “My anger and dislike for Sam is because she has vindictively and methodically hurt the people around her when she doesn’t get the perfect life she wants. She might have been here to plead on Jason’s behalf, but more to satisfy her unconscious need to drive it home that I was never wanted in Jason’s life. To try and make Jason and mine’s son seem like he was nothing more than a mistake. So don’t try to preach at me that I should just get over it, because no mother should have to forgive a person who hurt or threaten to hurt their child.” 

“Elizabeth,” Steve sighed. 

“Don’t Elizabeth me,” Elizabeth snarled, slamming the car door shut. She took a step back onto the sidewalk and pulled her arm out of her brother’s hand. Her body shook like a leaf from head to toe with her heart pounding violently against her ribcage. “When Jake was kidnapped by that woman with the post-partum depression, Maureen Harper? Sam watched the whole thing happen, and didn’t stop it. She kept it a secret for weeks! I went to her to beg for her to put Jake’s picture and do a message on that stupid show of hers, and she told me no because she didn’t want her producers to exploit my son’s kidnapping. She came to me a few days later and told me how we were even because we both lost a child, and that I was lucky because I could have another child to get over the loss! Don’t talk down to me like I’m the one being unreasonable for not wanting the likes of her near my baby’s funeral!” 

She turned on heel and started to march away, ignoring her brother’s calls after her. “I’m taking a walk and if you try to follow me, Steve, I’ll break your nose like I did when I was five!” She threatened, her voice a deep growl. She barely heard Olivia calming him down, and telling him to let her be. She owed Olivia a nice batch of brownies, the woman seemed to understand the rollercoaster that Elizabeth was currently on wasn’t fun and that there were times that Elizabeth just needed space in order to remember how to breathe. She managed to make it all the way to Vista Point on foot in less than thirty minutes, her shins hurting from the climb up the long winding hill. She stood at the bridge, and looked down at the churning water below. 

“I have no leaves,” she whispered out, feeling her heart jerk painfully at the thought. She always brought Jake and Cameron up here, showing them her favorite spot in all over Port Charles. Jake had started a tradition of gathering up leaves from everywhere he could so all three of them could drop them into the river below. She could see his bright, little smile as if he were standing right beside her and hear his voice as clear as day, _“Will they reach the ocean, mommy?”_

_“Of course, they will, sweetie,”_ she would tell him every time. 

She closed her eyes in despair, and shook her head. There was a painful knot in her throat, and she felt her knees tremble beneath her. She knelt down on the old metal bridge, and leaned her forehead against the railing as she took deep breath to compose herself. Sam’s words like a snake, coiled around her mind. There was an unfortunate truth to the fact that Elizabeth had bad luck when it came to her love life, and history of making horrible decision in an effort to protect those that she cared about most. Her world went sideways again, the grey pooling over the colors and swallowing it whole. The pain was crippling, sending her to her knees and driving a scream right out of her throat. It felt like her brain was being stabbed by a thousand hot needles, and then scrambling everything about, changing who she was fundamentally, and when she thought her soul was going to be torn apart by the swirling storm inside of her, there was voice that seemed to call from beyond the veil of eons ago that whispered, _“Come forth by day, and I will guide you home.”_

Elizabeth grasped onto the lifeline, and pulled it close. The warmth of the voice seemed to wrap around her body, mind and soul, awakened the need to survive, the need to thrive and pushing the darkness away. She fell backwards on the ground, the convulsing shudders that wracked her body became nothing more than the occasional twitch. But she was so exhausted, as if she had just had the fight of her life and she didn’t realize what ramifications would come from it. Her eyes fluttered open and shut, as she struggled to pick herself up off the ground. A distant echo—a noise of footsteps—caused her to turn her head, her cheek pressed against the shockingly cold metal of the bridge. Through the dancing black dots, she swore she saw a blurry figure standing at the end of the bridge. When the figure rushed towards her, she felt a tug of familiarity pulled at her soul and a name fell off her lips before she could help herself, “Aya? My Aya?” 

And then the world fell out from underneath her. 

* * *

_48 BCE_

_Siwa Oasis_

_Kingdom of Egypt_

Outwardly, Siwa had not seemed to change. 

The same buildings and the same people, but there was a fear now. A fear that tainted the gentle free spirit of the Egyptian people, triggered by the horrors that unfolded only a year ago and the suffering under the pharaoh’s unkind rule ever since. His jaw clenched tight when they passed a group of soldiers, one that was proclaiming, “You owe all that you have, your farms, your goods, your children; you owe your very lives to His Highness Ptolemy!” 

Bayek’s golden gaze swept over the people. They looked weary and beaten down, starved thin and as if their limbs should not keep them upright. It made a white hot fire burn in the base of his gut, but he knew that he couldn’t confront these soldiers outright here and now. After they passed the scene, Bayek hissed underneath his breath, “The villagers are drained of life.” 

Hepzefa nodded, grimly. “No one can make a move in the _wahat_ without being questioned, threatened, taxed or beaten. We have all learned to obey and keep our heads down,” his friend stated, an edge of anger and sadness to his tone. “You see how it is.” 

“Yes, I can,” Bayek said, knowing that he could not leave Siwa until he did something to help them. He had grown up here, knew most of these faces, and while he could not end Ptolemy’s madness outright, he could alleviate some the pains that his home suffered. “For now, let us not drawn attention.” 

The camels jogged through the village, through the pass with bull statues that lined the sides of the road, and beyond the market towards the very edges of town. Bayek eyed the group of guards on horse that rushed towards them, and only released his breath one they passed without incident. 

“Are you going to go to your house?” Hepzefa asked, his tone light. 

Bayek’s expression shuttered. “There is nothing there for me.” 

Hepzefa opened his mouth, and then looked away, shamed to have brought up a raw wound. 

Bayek exhaled a sigh, wiping the sweat dripping down his brow. The sun light up the world, and pushed away shadows, but at times, the sun exacted a high price by boiling the people beneath it alive. “Tell me about the one known as The Ibis,” he requested, turning the conversation away from the mention of his house and the inconsolable grief that came with it. His anger gave him focus, it cut deep, but it didn’t leave him with the feeling of being helpless. “I would learn more of my enemy before I exact my rightful revenge.” 

“The Ibis may be his moniker, but his real name is Meduamun,” Hepfeza replied, a pinched expression on his face. 

“Is he here?” Bayek asked. All his information told him that The Ibis had returned to Siwa, which made his heart turn black with anger. How dare one of the masked ones return to this place? After what they had done, they did not have the right. 

“He is a plague on the oasis. As you can see, the soldiers have become more brutal since he arrived. Before, they got drunk and fought with villagers. Now that Medunamun is here, they are disciplined and vicious,” Hepzefa commented, a worried frown upon his face. He looked around him at the village with a deep seeded sadness in his gaze. “And the people have no way of fighting back.” 

“All the more reason to kill the Ibis,” Bayek said, his eyes narrowed against the sun. 

“Do not take him lightly. He is lean and sinewy, but very powerful,” Hepfeza warned his best friend, with a quelling look. “He had earned his power through cruelty and clever means, and he will strike you down in your haste.” 

“I will take heed of your advice,” Bayek promised, to put Hepzefa’s mind at ease. 

Before they reached Hepzefa’s home, several citizens exclaimed in joy at seeing that Bayek was back. “It’s Bayek! Mommy, look, Bayek is back!” and “By the gods Amun and Iset, Bayek is back in Siwa!” He greeted his old friends, the bittersweet nostalgia tugged at his heart. Finally, he entered the house where Hepzefa waited patiently. 

“Rest, my friend,” Hepzefa told him, gently. “It has been a difficult day.” 

“I have no interest in rest. I have to prepare for the battle with the Ibis.” 

Before Hepzefa could say another word, an older woman entered the hut frantic and furious. Despite the hobble way she walked, she moved with the guileless of a person half her age. She was dressed in the traditional robes of the healer, her jewelry clinking together as she moved. “Hepzefa? Hepzefa! Once again, the soldiers—” She halted in place, her dark eyes widening and a small smile appeared on her face. “Bayek?” 

Bayek felt his face split into a wide grin. “Rabiah, my Rabiah,” he greeted, pulling the tiny woman yet formidable woman into a hug. Rabiah had been the temple healer and had helped taken care of him, even when he was a child. 

“I have been worried about you,” Rabiah admonished him, lightly. 

“You know me, you should be worried,” Bayek chuckled, releasing her from his embrace. 

Rabiah clucked her tongue in disapproval now that he was up close, and she grasped his chin in her hand, her dark eyes flickering over his wounds. “Look at you. Cuts, contusions…” She told him, shaking her head side to side. “You look like something the hyena dragged in.” 

“I’m fine, Rabiah.” 

“Nonsense.” Rabiah easily called his bluff. “Sit, sit, sit. I’ll take care of you.” 

Bayek was tempted to argue, but one fierce look from Rabiah, and he held up his hands in surrender. He took a seat upon the edge of the long seat, and stated, amused, “You haven’t changed.” 

Rabiah took the pitcher of water from Hepzefa, and poured into a bowl. Dipping a clean cloth, she let it soak up the water and then wrung it out before she grasped Bayek’s bloody and wounded arm. “You and Aya, I’ve always patched you two up, made excuses to your parents…times have changed, but you, I can count on,” she recalled, her voice filled with sadness and wistfulness. It was no surprise that eventually Bayek’s exhaustion caught up with him, as Rabiah told a story about his wild youth and he fell asleep to her soothing and warm voice. He did not know how long he laid there, only that when his eyes pulled open that the afternoon sun was blazing in through the doorway. With a groan, he rose off the bed and ran his fingers over the bandages. He stumbled to his feet, and reapplied his armor and weapons before he walked out of the house. 

He found Hepzefa practicing his swordplay on the dummies made out of straw and sacks. His friend blinked, and then smiled at his approaching, dropping his sword to this side. “Slumbering Osiris, I thought you would never wake up!” Hepzefa teased him. 

“Rabiah patched me up and I just…” Bayek shrugged, with a wan smile. 

Hepzefa expression turned solemn. “I let you sleep. You need to be alert to tangle with Medunamun. In fact, my friend…” He gestured for Bayek to follow him over to the shed where he kept his weapons hidden away. He retrieved a fine bow from his things, and held it out to Bayek. 

Bayek took it, carefully. “A new bow?” 

“See if you like it. Best spot to hit is right in the head. You will need swiftness to take out the soldiers at the temple to clear your way to The Ibis,” Hepzefa said, sheathing his blade around his waist. He grabbed a quiver full of arrows, and handed them to Bayek. “I would normally say you could rely upon Benipe to repair your weapons and armor, but the soldiers have taken any supplies for such crafting to their fort.” 

“I shall do that,” Bayek reassured him, slinging the quiver over his shoulder. 

“Good thing, too. Your armor has seen better days,” he tapped Bayek’s chest plate that was torn and cracked. 

“Hepzefa!” 

Hepzefa and Bayek whirled around to see a woman running towards the house. Her face twisted up in fear and when she came to a stop, she had to bend over to catch her breath. “What is it?” Hepzefa asked, concerned. 

“Soldiers are coming for you!” The woman said, as soon as she found her voice. “I ran as fast as I could, but they could be here any second. You must hide.” 

Hepzefa gritted his teeth together. “Go!” He told the young woman, who immediately obeyed his instructions. He grasped Bayek by the arm, and tugged him along. “Come quickly!” 

Grass and weeds above waist height surrounded the front side of Hepzefa’s house. Ducking into the thicket, Bayek and Hepzefa managed to hide themselves carefully just before the sound of thunderous footsteps could be heard. Only a minute later, three soldiers marched up towards the house. “Make sure no one gets out of this house alive,” the leader of the three stated, his voice sharp and dark. One guard with a torch and an oil jar when around to the backside of the house to block the rear exit, and another went into the house to search it. 

“Nek!” Fear flashed through Hepzefa’s eyes, and his voice was a hushed, hurried whisper. “They will find my letters to you and to the rebels. They will set fire to my place, and I will be executed.” 

Bayek clasped his friend’s shoulder and gave a quick, comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry. I will take care of this,” he promised, his voice barely audible. His golden eyes bore with lethal intent on the guard’s back. “Keep low and stay out of sight.” 

“Hepzefa! We’re just here to talk. Nomarch Rubjek’s been killed. Your friend the Medjay may have been involved! Come out if you wish to clear his name!” The guard shouted at the house, unaware of the Medjay carefully creeping upon on him. Using the greenery to hide himself, Bayek drew his dagger from his boot and as soon as his was within reach, he struck out with the swiftness of a lion. He grabbed the soldier by his head with one hand and the other dragged the blood clean across his throat. The man couldn’t shout, his vocal cords ruined and dropped the ground. 

Bayek darted around the side of the house, using the shadows to his advantage. He pressed his back against the stone wall, and peered around the corner only for a heartbeat. The soldier stood, shifting on his feet idly with the torch held tight in his hand. He had placed the jar of oil at his feet, and Bayek’s nimble fingers withdrew an arrow from the quiver. He drew the arrow horizontal and long slung before he moved around the corner, and released it. It struck the jar with enough force to shatter the hard clay, and the oil splattered everywhere in a black, sticky mess. The soldier jumped, his hands fumbled with the torch and it dropped right into the oil. The fire ravenously spread, greedily licking up the oil and snaking its way up the soldier’s body. 

The man hollered and screamed, trying to put the flames out. 

“What in the Duat is going on?” The soldier from inside the house demanded, and rushed outside to see what the commotion was about. 

Bayek had another arrow notched, and released it. It went clean through the man’s skull, and he dropped to the ground dead. He used another arrow to put the burning man out of his misery. He did not relish in ending these men‘s lives, they were like cattle only doing and going where their master told them yet for their blindness, justice demanded they be held accountable for the atrocities they committed under Medunamun’s order. 

The sun had disappeared entirely from the sky, leaving only beams of light that shimmered around the horizon. Bayek twisted his bow between his fingers, and turned at Hepzefa’s approach. “We will need to do something about the bodies.” 

“The Romans do not tend to their dead in the ways that we do. They merely bury them, so I shall take the bodies to the temple under the cover of night and see they find proper rest,” Hepzefa stated, running hand over his head. “They will be given rights and buried out of sight before the Captain can man a search for them. It is not the first time soldiers have gone missing, the desert is a cruel and unforgiving mistress at the best of times.” 

“That she is,” Bayek agreed, with a weary sigh. He looked across the desert sands, the mountains in the distance and recalled how cruel that the desert. The wounds the desert had left upon his soul and mind had scarred over, but instead of fading with time, it only grew. No amount of prayer or thought got him closer to answers, to why it had happened. But where prayers failed, Bayek had taken matters into his own hands and he would find the answers even if he had to rip them out of the hearts of his enemies to do so. 

* * *

The next morning, the bodies were gone. The blood that had been split had been made to appear like it had come from an old steer that had been put out to pasture, and now had been butchered for meat. The people of the town were quick to cover for Hepzefa, a telltale sign of how good and worthy a protector he had been to them. Hepzefa may doubt himself, but Bayek didn’t. Bayek could see that Siwa couldn’t be in better hands, but he would still lend his friend a hand to help ease the weight of his burdens. “I still cannot thank you enough, Bayek,” Hepzefa commented, over their breakfast of meat and figs. “You already have such trouble upon your head, and you still aided me.” 

“No amount of trouble could stop me from helping a friend,” Bayek said, giving him a half-smile. He would not allow his actions to harm the people he cared about more than they already had. “But you aren’t the only one in Siwa in need of saving from the soldiers?” 

“A sad truth that. All the problems that the villagers have come to me, but try as I might, I cannot help everyone,” Hepzefa admitted, chuckling. He wiped the juice that leaked out of the corner of his mouth, and chased the fruit down with water. 

Bayek quirked up a brow. “So you’re telling me you do not have the powers of a god?” He asked, with mischievousness glowing in his golden eyes. He took a piece of meat off, and popped it into his mouth. 

Hepzefa laughed for a moment, but when it subsided, he looked out beyond his terrace with a light frown. “The roof of everyone’s suffering, the real problem is that man you want to kill: Medunamun. The people were hopeful when he first arrived. Even I was blinded with hope, thinking that surely things would improve.” His head bowed, pain and shame etched into his features. “We soon learned the truth, when he beat the temple priests, burn crops letting people starve and has innocent men executed for false crimes. With no one able to stand up to him, he revealed himself as the monster he was.” 

“Even monsters can be slain,” Bayek said, the food seething in his gut. He pushed his plate away unable to eat anymore. “I will kill him, and Siwa will be cleansed from his evil, I swear it.” 

Hepzefa nodded, slowly. “I pray that Amun will guide your way and see you to victory,” he told him, earnestly. The man paused, his eyes flickered as if something had just occurred to him and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Or would you prefer Senu as your eyes?” 

Bayek‘s head jerked upward. “Senu? Senu is alive?” 

Hepzefa nodded, smiling brightly. He put his fingers up to his lips, and whistled. An eagle’s cry could be heard from above, and Bayek was on his feet, his eyes peering up at the sky. His heart thumped in his chest with joy and happiness when he saw a familiar set of wings shadowed against the sun. The eagle swooped down, gracefully cutting through the air and Bayek held out his arm with no fear. Senu, his faithful companion, landed on his outstretched arm. Senu was beautiful and majestic, the large bird covered with dark copper and tan colored feathers that had a glossy sheen underneath the light. Her golden gaze was sharp, intelligent in the way that more human than animal. “Senu, old girl! In fine form,” he stated, his voice clogged with emotions. His fingers stroked her feathers with a gentle touch, and the eagle chirped playfully nipping at his armor. He could not describe the loss he felt when he thought Senu had died during that dark day nearly a year ago, the pain that went through him when he did not see her in the sky. 

His connection to Senu ran deeper than anyone else, save for one. His bond—mystical and inexplicable—allowed him to share her vision, to see through her eyes and soar together as if they were of one mind. He had thought her like so many other things lost to him forever. He had felt blinded without her, and now a piece of the deep void inside of him was filled. 

“Rabiah nursed her to health,” Hepzefa explained, gently. 

Bayek smiled, his eyes shining. “I must thank her.” 

“She is at the temple, working the best she can to heal and tend the wounded if you wish to thank her immediately. The people will look to you for guidance, they are desperate for a savior, Bayek,” Hepzefa added, with a shrug of his shoulder. “They will help you if you help them. Bonds of compassion and kindness are stronger than those woven by fear.” 

Bayek picked the last strip of meat off his plate, treating Senu with it. The eagle’s feathers shuddered with pleasure as it swallowed down the food. “I understand,” he nodded at Hepzefa. “I will help in any way I can. First though, I make to hunt in the north. My broken armor is just a beacon for an enemy’s blade.” 

He had left his camel at the village, preferring to run across the sands on his own two feet when hunting. It gave a measure of control that riding on the back of a camel or horse could not provide. Senu circled dutifully above him, guiding him along the way through the palm trees and weeds that sprung up from the earth the closer he got to the water’s edge. He paused, his head tilted to the right. He could hear it just faintly, the soft stomps of hooves. A herd of antelope were nearby grazing, and he would have to be careful not to startle them. He moved with measured steps, the sound silent against the sands and his pulse throbbed in the base of his throat. He held an arrow at the ready as he moved around the palm trees, moving towards the place that Senu flew above. 

The gazelle were a simple, temperate beauty; the antithesis of beasts like the lion who were a savage untamed in their splendor. Raising his bow, he lined up the shot and released the arrow. It whistled through the air, and struck one of the gazelle along the shoulder blade. He let out a oath underneath his breath. He had been aiming for the heart, to give the creature a swift and merciful death. Instead, the gazelle cried out in alarm and took off running. He had to chase after it because he knew that the wound was bad enough that it would cause infection and a long, painful death. He could not in good conscious allow such a gentle creature to suffer so. His feet raced across the sands, with Senu following the gazelle from above as the herd broke apart in fear and panic. 

Each breath was hard won by the end of it, Bayek dripping sweat and exhaustion. The gazelle had reached the side of the cliff, before it had come to a slow, hobble. It whimpered with each gutful of air it drew in, and shakily moved on its legs. Bayek felt sorrow and sympathy well up in his chest, knowing intimately the struggle for survival the animal was going through. “Forgive me, gentle soul, if I had any other way I would leave you and yours alone, but know that I will end your pain,” he spoke, his voice regretful. It was a cruel necessity to have to hunt, but he would honor the creature the best way he could. Drawing an arrow back, he stared at the wide brown eyes and his heart clenched tight in his chest before he released the arrow. It struck the gazelle through head, and the animal felt no more. 

“Thanks to Neith, Goddess of Hunting,” he murmured the familiar prayer, but he couldn’t step towards the animal. For a solid minute, he stood there staying down as the blood soaked into the sand. He let out a mournful sigh, and walked over to the gazelle when he felt himself become rooted to the spot. Several yards ahead hidden within the base of the great mountain and cliffs was an opening, a cave. The sight of it sent Bayek’s heart to his throat. _The Gods toyed with him to bring him here_ , he thought to himself, and he wanted to turn away and forget that he saw it. In his heart, he knew that he could not. 

Bayek picked up the animal, lifting it on his shoulder. If he left it outside while he ventured into the caves, then a pack of hyenas or flock of vultures would devour it. He walked forward, each step took every ounce of courage that he had inside of him. The coolness of the cave was a stark contrast to the heat of the day, and the walls shrouded him in darkness. He knew the cave by heart, and he set the gazelle down on a slab of rock before his hands searched for the torch he knew was left by the entrance. His hand wrapped around the torch, and he set about lighting it with his dagger and a piece of flint. It took a couple of tries, but the wrappings around the top of the torch still had enough oil to make it light. 

The flame illuminated the tomb, revealing the crevices that had been carved into the reddish stone to house the deceased. Spider webs stretched across the room, exploding in a flash once the fire touched them and Bayek frowned, heavily. “The tomb has become unkempt. The Ibis and his soldiers must not allow the villagers to come tend to it,” Bayek murmured to himself, venturing further into the tomb. The tomb held multiple chambers, the most notable being the central chamber which held a giant sarcophagus several feet deep on one end opposite a great, metal gate. A stele dating back to the Old Kingdom with ancient writing inscribed upon it was set before it. The locals dead were buried here, but in passage, disconnected from the rest of the tomb had been set aside for the Medjay who guarded of the Siwa Oasis. 

It lacked the ornamentation and finery that the main part of the tomb held, and crevices dug into the walls to rest the dead without sarcophagi much in the way that the Romans did. He walked into the side cave, lighting up the braziers along his way and finally came a halt in front of his grandfather. He cleaned the cobwebs away, and whispered the last lines of the Medjay’s prayer to honor his grandfather in the only way he could, “Come forth by day, and I will guide you home.” 

His mother, Ahmose, had been buried here as well. While she had not been a Medjay, she rested here in place of his father, Medjay Sabu, who had been murdered by a mercenary Bion several years ago. Bayek had been near death, and had not been able to recover his father’s body. By the time he had returned, it had been swallowed up by the desert. His mother had grieved herself to death only two years later, only hanging on long enough to see that the family would live on. Bayek wiped away the dust and dirt, paying his respect by leaving her an offering of coin and figs. It was a scarce offering, less than he would like to showering her with to preserve her in her afterlife, but he had been ill equipped to come visit the dead on this day. 

Bayek turned, his torch illuminating a small passage to the right. His stomach lurched violently for it was the cause of his fear, the reason that he hesitated to enter this place. He feared to go through that tunnel, but he knew that he must. Bayek could not leave this place without going to him, and so his feet moved with a mind of their own. They drew him deeper into the cave until he was faced with the sight that destroyed him. It was a sight that would always destroy him. 

It was alabaster child sized coffin set into an alcove, and decorated with red hand prints. Dozens of wax candles had been placed on top of the stone tables carved from the walls, and the sacred canopic jars set on the tomb undisturbed. The air rushed out of his lungs at the sight of the sarcophagus, and his heart wedged tight in his throat. The burn of tears prickled at his eyes and his voice failed him, he collapsed to his knees before the shrine. His hand reaching out to touch the sarcophagus, only to stop himself from sullying it with the gazelle’s blood that coated his hands. The blood of an innocent, the thought lanced through him with an unforgiving force. He bowed his head, tears pouring down his cheeks and insurmountable wave of grief crashed through his soul. 

“It is…” Bayek whispered, clenching his eyes closed. A sob wracked through him that he couldn’t choke down. “It is peaceful here, my son.” 

* * *

_March 24, 2011_

_Port Charles, New York_

_General Hospital_

A sound drew Elizabeth out of her slumber. A steady beep that came from somewhere on her right, and her brows furrowed together. She was laid back against a firm, uncomfortable mattress that was nothing like her bed at home, and she was dressed in a thin itchy dress. Her body ached from head to toe as if she had been put through the ringer. There was pinch of pain in her hand, and she moved it, she could feel the tubes connected to it. Her heart throbbed, her mind too jumbled and broken for coherent thought. It was sweltering hot, her entire body felt like it was stuck in an oven and there was no relief to the agitated feeling. A panic began to lick like flames underneath her skin, and she needed to get to her sons. She needed to get to Jake and Cameron. Something bad was going to happen, she just knew it. 

She gave a painful moan, tugging the blanket off of her and she stumbled out of the hospital bed just as the door opened. She shivered when her knees hit the cool tile, but before she could stand up, there were hands grasping her arm. “Are you kidding me?” Dr. Patrick Drake stated, with an exasperated sigh. He was a charming, suave dark haired man with a boyish smile and was Elizabeth’s longtime friend. In her feverish haze she flinched away from him, not recognizing him. 

“My boys need me,” she said, fighting against him. 

“No, he needs you to get better. You had a seizure brought on by stress and exhaustion,” Patrick said, dodging the hands that punched and slapped at him. “You might be the worst patient I have had, you know that?” 

“I need to get home!” 

“No, no. You cannot go home like this,” Patrick said, managing to quell her weak attempts at escape. He lifted her up and put her back into the bed. He pulled the blanket back of her, and resituated her IV stand before making sure she didn’t do any damage to her hand by tugging on the IV. “You have a fever of 103.6 right now, and you trying to escape the hospital isn’t making it better.” 

“I-I’m fine. I have to get home,” she protested, her eyes glazed over with fear. “I’m worried about my kids. There is something bad happening and I have to protect them. You have let me go home.” 

“Elizabeth—” 

“I was sinking. It was dark. And he found me. How does he always find me?” Elizabeth groaned, slumping back against her pillow. She had exhausted her energy for the moment, but the terror did not die. It festered in her blood, telling her to get up and to fight. 

“Yeah, if Jason hadn’t found you,” Patrick said, “you could have been a lot worse off then you are now.” 

“How is she doing?” Monica Quartermain appeared at the door. 

Patrick glanced at the woman, knowing that she and Elizabeth hadn’t had the best relationship lately. When Jake died and it had been revealed that Jason was the boy’s father, Monica had verbally attacked Elizabeth. She had been angry to be kept away from her grandson, never admitting that her own scheme to sue Elizabeth for custody among other things had impacted the decision that Jake be kept away from the Quartermain family. Still while her grief could be understandable, the way Monica treated Elizabeth, who hadn’t even buried her child yet, was exceeding less so. “Her fever is spiking,” Patrick replied, tersely. 

Elizabeth jolted, hearing Jake and Cameron’s voices calling out to her. “No, no, no. I have to get to them. Don’t you hear them?” She asked, looking frantically between Patrick and Monica. “You have to help me!” 

“We are doing everything we can,” Monica said, as Patrick was setting up some new medicine in her IV drop. 

“No, my boys!” 

Monica paused, her eyes flickered. “Cameron is fine,” she said, a slight edge to her tone. 

“Cameron is fine?” Elizabeth asked, confused. 

“Yes, he is fine,” Patrick affirmed, patting her hand gently. 

“What about Jake?” Elizabeth got a lost and haunted look on her face. “Is Jake not fine? Why didn’t you say anything about Jake?” She flinched back, her eyes dilated with fear. “Jake, he needs me. He needs me. I can feel it. He’s so scared. He’s so scared. My baby,” she started to cry, tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“Elizabeth?” A voice came from the doorway. 

Elizabeth looked up, and barely saw him through her tears. A relieved breath tore through her to see Jason standing there. Jason was the only one who believed her when Jake had been kidnapped. The police had accused her of hurting her baby in a fit of post-partum depression, her ex-husband Lucky spearheading such allegation. Jason believed her, and brought her baby home. When the Russian took Jake in retaliation to Jason, he had fought through them and brought her baby home again. He always listened and believed her, she knew he wouldn’t dismiss her like Monica and Patrick were. Jason would bring Jake home, and everything would be alright. He crossed the room, brushing past Monica and was at her side. “You came,” she croaked out, and she sank into his arms when he wrapped them around her. “I’m so scared for my boys.” 

“It’s—it’s okay. They’re fine. I’ll go check on them for you,” Jason promised, ignoring the sharp look that Patrick sent him. 

“No! No. No. You have to help me, and only you can help me,” Elizabeth said, through her sobs. 

“Okay. W-whatever you want. I’ll always be here for you,” Jason told her, stroking her hair gently. She could feel that he was telling the truth. She could feel the sincerity in his promise. 

“It’s Jake.” 

“Elizabeth…” Jason’s face twisted into despair, and he pulled her tighter against him. 

“He’s in trouble, Jason. Our little boy is in trouble. Please, Jason,” she begged, her voice desperate and pleading. “You have to help me save our little boy. Please. Please…help me save him.” 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END OF CHAPTER!  
> Author’s Note 1: I decided to post the second chapter to give you all a better look at kind of where this story is going, and how Elizabeth and Bayek connect.   
> References and Language:  
> 1.) Wahat (Egyptian) Oasis  
> Author’s Note 2: That was an emotionally draining chapter to write. I hurt my feelings. I may have cried, and now need some chocolate ice cream to smooth this over. With Bayek’s turmoil on top of Elizabeth’s, ugggh. I know to AC fans this may seem like I’m giving a lot of background on General Hospital characters, but in order to understand the relationship Elizabeth has with everyone good and bad, it is necessary. It is also exceedingly difficult to condense down roughly fourteen years of history (Rebecca Herbst who played Elizabeth Webber started in 1997 and in 2011, it would have been 14 years. She is still on the show to this day) that includes her love life, her family relationships, friends and children. It is also a soap opera so the drama and stuff is hella crazy at times, but I’m doing my best to try not to overload anyone. To GH fans, you will notice that I have went back over the GH episodes and scripts of 2011 and have parts of it that have been edited to fit the fanfic. I want to keep true to the characters versus cannon, but I enjoy being able to use the good parts of the show that were impactful. It is a sad thing that GH writers let so many good plots and storylines slip through their fingers. GH has really become more about what the writers want versus what the audience wants to see. I’ll stick to fan fiction now thanks.  
> RRs are appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank the two guests for the kudos.  
> I want to thank Andria for the bookmark! :D
> 
> History Fact: Ancient Egyptians believed that Ma'at, Goddess of Truth and Justice, would judge souls upon entry into the afterlife, in the Egyptian underworld known as the Duat. It was called the weighing of the heart (or weighing of the souls) where the person's heart would be weighed against Ma'at's feather, and if found lighter than the feather, the person would be rewarded with going to Aaru. If a heart is found unworthy it was devoured by the goddess Ammit and its owner condemned to remain in the Duat forever. (The goddess Ammit was not the only soul devourer to be feared. Worse than she was the God of Destruction, Apep or Apophis, who on occasion was written to have devoured soul and consume them)

* * *

THREE 

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." 

― C.S. Lewis, _A Grief Observed_

* * *

_March 25, 2011_

_Port Charles, New York_

_General Hospital_

_Images of Jason, Jake and Cameron danced in her mind. Her boys vanished like smoke, fear cutting her in the gut. She asked for them, tried to get to them. "Cameron is fine," a faint voice whispered, echoing through the dark abyss that surrounded her. But what about Jake? Why weren't they talking about Jake? Had something happened? Screeching tires, blood on the pavement, and bile rushed up her esophagus. Somewhere in the abyss, a demon snake known as Apep, god of evil and destruction, slithered about waiting to devour her heart at the first sign of weakness. She could hear herself pleading with Jason to find Khemu—no, her son's name was Jake. Who was Khemu? Khemu was Jake? Her thoughts didn't make any sense._

_She recalled warm arms. The smell of sandalwood and musk. It was Jason. He found her, and she could hear herself start to plead with him to find their baby, to bring their son home when her veins turned black, a poison running through them causing all the thoughts and dreams to fade entirely._

Elizabeth groaned, lightly. Her eyes fluttered, and then she grimaced at the bright lights beaming down on her. The beeps of the heart monitor increased ever so slightly, and she started to sit upward when a hand rest on her shoulder to stop her. She managed to peel her eyes open to see Epiphany Jones, the Head Nurse. "W-what is going on?" She croaked, her throat hurt as if it had been scraped raw with sandpaper. 

Epiphany who had been checking Elizabeth's vitals turned towards her. "Easy there, Nurse Webber. The last thing you need to do is strain yourself," she said, gently. If Epiphany was being gentle then that meant things had gotten bad. The dark skin full-figure goddess of sass and no nonsense attitude usually did not spare time to mince words. Her tongue was a weapon, and she used at all opportunities though she did have a soft spot for Elizabeth. Though she would not say it out loud, she often thought of Elizabeth as the daughter she never had. She got Elizabeth a cup of water, and helped her to sip through the straw. "Better?" 

"Better," Elizabeth whispered, the water soothed her throat. She laid back against the pillow, and her breaths were slow and labored. "How long have I been here?" 

"Two days." 

"Cameron?" She asked, tiredly. 

"He is doing fine. Nicolas has taken care of him. Apparently, Spencer had decreed that Cameron should stay with them until you recovered," Epiphany reassured her. "He brought him to visit your earlier, but you were still out of it because of the medicine Dr. Drake gave you." 

"Medicine?" Elizabeth hated the cobweb sensation that coated every thought. She struggled to string together why she was in the hospital and why she needed medicine. Shaking her head slightly, she asked, "What happened, Epiphany? How did I get here?" 

"What do you remember?" Epiphany asked, instead of answering. 

"I…" Elizabeth paused for a moment, and then released a heavy sigh. "I was with Steve and Olivia. I had to pick a c-coffin out for Jake," she whispered, her voice stumbled through the sentence. "I got into a fight with Sam who was lurking around the mortuary then I fought with Steve, and decided to go for a walk to clear my head. My life is a maelstrom and I am barely holding on, I just needed a second to breathe. I think I ended up at Vista Point, but it's all blurry after that." 

Epiphany sat down in the bedside chair, her face very serious and grim. "You had a seizure and then collapsed. Dr. Drake said it appears to be triggered from stress and a lack of sleep, instead of an acute medical condition. Jason brought you in, and lucky he did. Who knows how worse of you could have been if he hadn't found you." 

"Jason?" Elizabeth felt her heart jolt. "How did he find me?" 

"I don't know," Epiphany replied, quietly. "He just did. He rushed you in here, and paced all around the waiting room. You had a really bad fever, and started shouting. The boy about broke his neck from whiplash, he rushed into your room so fast and wouldn't leave your side until Dr. Drake assured him that you were okay. He probably would have stayed longer if a certain chief of staff hadn't been constantly by his side and drove him away." 

Elizabeth frowned, deeply. "Monica was there?" 

Monica Quartermain was Jason's mother, though the relationship between mother and son was tenuous at best. There were years of ups and down that Jason had with the Quartermain family, starting with the accident that had fundamentally changed him as a person over a decade ago. His brother AJ had driven a car while drunk, and the crash ended up putting Jason a coma. When he woke, he had no memories of his life prior to that moment. The "golden" boy's personality shifted into something reserved and stoic. The Quartermains had tried to mold him back into the person he once was, and he lashed out angrily at them. Eventually, he dropped the name Quartermain and took up his grandmother Lila's last name, since she was the only one not pressuring him. He ended up in the employment of Sonny Corinthos, a mob boss much to the family's horror. Ever since then it had been scheme after scheme to get Jason to return to the family fold, using his nephew Michael as pawn, to using his sister Emily to appeal to his better nature and so much more. The way she sought custody of Jake a year ago on Jason's "behalf", and lost because Jason put a stop to it, had soured the personal and working relationship between Monica and Elizabeth. 

Monica was convinced that Elizabeth badgered Jason into dropping the custody complaint, or some such nonsense. Elizabeth hadn't spoken to Jason since the break up at the courthouse two and half years ago, and Jason stayed out of the boys' lives to keep them safe from dangers of the mob. Or at least, that's the excuse he gave when he broke off their engagement and walked away from their family. So Monica had eagerly taken to Sam, whom was the antithesis to Elizabeth in her eyes, and would eventually get Jason to let the Quartermain family back into his life. So that's why she had been hovering, to make sure that Jason didn't become too attached to Elizabeth as that would ruin all her well-to-do plans for Jason and Sam and their future. 

Elizabeth shook her head. She had once idolized Monica, looked up to her as a friend and colleague. Emily Quartermain had been Elizabeth's best friend since high school and she had been friendly with the family for years. It was startling easy how Monica threw that all under the bus and it made Elizabeth see the woman for who she really was. "My fever was that bad?" She asked, and then her eyebrows climbed to her hairline when she saw Epiphany looked very sad. "What, Epiphany? What is it?" 

Epiphany looked away, a split second of hesitance. "You were talking about Jake." 

Elizabeth felt her expression drop and her stomach twist painfully. Her tongue moistened her dry lips, and she ran her fingers through her hair, looking everywhere but at the nurse. "I…I was talking about Jake?" She asked, her voice so small. Part of her didn't want to know. Part of her didn't want to hear it, feeling that the pain was just going to get worse when it was already so bad. 

"You were…" Epiphany sighed, heavily. "You were convinced he needed your help and that you needed to save him." 

The words were like daggers sinking into her soul, and her hands covered her ears half-heartedly as if to shield her from any more. Her blue eyes looked at Epiphany, gleaming with tears and she felt never more childlike than she did in this moment. Epiphany reached out, pulling her into the tight hug. "I know. I know it hurts," Epiphany said, softly. "When my son, Stan, died I felt the weight of the world crushing me. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, but somehow I kept moving even when every thought went back to him. There were times where I would forget, where I would wake up, and it would take a moment to sink in. Where I was busy in the daily motions, and I would just think about him, and then suddenly remember that he is gone. It's a pain that goes on and on, and somehow you have to move on despite it. It's not easy, I won't lie, but you can do it. You have to do it, for yourself and that little boy you still have at home." 

Elizabeth reached up, scrubbing away the tears. "I know that I have to. I am trying so hard, but everywhere I go, I swear that I see him. I keep seeing Jake everywhere I go. I saw him in the hospital hallway, and then I saw him after I had gotten a toy—a yellow truck for him to ride on—that I had ordered him. I saw him playing with it, and then in the next second he is gone," she confessed, her chin quivered violently. She clenched her eyes so tightly shut as if trying to purge the image from her mind, but she couldn't. It felt like a betrayal, it felt like she was trying to erase him, and she couldn't do that. "It's driving me insane. I see him and my heart feels so full—full of love and happiness, and the next moment when he is gone, I am just reminded that I will never get to hold him again. My arms ache to hold my baby, to hold him tight and never let him go. I keep going over that night again and again over what I could have done differently. Like why didn't I make Jake go play upstairs with Cameron? Why did I just bring him into the kitchen with me? Why couldn't I have remembered to just lock that damn door?" She raged at herself, her voice raw with gut-wrenching agony. Not even Epiphany's hug could shield her from the pain that tore her up inside. "What kind of mother am I?" 

Epiphany broke the hug, and took Elizabeth chin in her hand. "Don't you ever doubt yourself as a mother, Elizabeth Webber," she stated, her tone fierce and firm. "I have known you for years now. I have seen you beaten down and at your worse, but you know what else I saw? I saw a woman who devoted her life to her children. Who sacrificed so much to give them a happy home, and showered them with unconditional love. You are a good mother, Elizabeth. What happened that night doesn't change that, do you understand me?" 

A dry sob shuddered through Elizabeth. "I'll try," was all she could promise. She couldn't just magically flip a switch, and believe what Epiphany stated. Emotions and thoughts just didn't work like that. Epiphany stayed with her a while longer, but eventually left to do her nursing duties before Monica came looking for her. Elizabeth used the phone beside the bed to call Cassidine Manor, and talk to Cameron. He missed her and told her out his recent bad dream with little Spencer chiming in the background ever so often to her amusement. She promised him that she would be home soon, and made a mental note to herself to seek a child therapist for Cameron to speak about. He had put a lot of guilt on his tiny little shoulders that he should have to bear, and maybe talking to someone who wasn't directly tied to the tragedy would be easier than talking to her. 

The door to her hospital room, and she lifted her head expecting the doctor when instead she saw her ex-husband Lucky Spencer. "What are you doing here?" Elizabeth demanded, her voice sharp and eyes full of suspicion. It tore through her with all the subtly of a riptide, the same burning feeling that had pulsed through Bayek's veins when he faced down Rubjek suddenly flooded through her blood and pulsed outward until it consumed every inch of her skin. Her entire body went rigid, and her teeth gnashed together as she fought the instinct to lash out at Lucky. Her breath trembled through her like wind that swept up the sands and became a violent desert storm. 

"What am I doing here?" Lucky asked, frowning. "I'm here to see you, Elizabeth. I heard that Jason found you up at Vista Point, and you were out cold. I know that we haven't been married for almost five years now, but we will always be important to one another." 

"Lucky, you aren't my husband. You aren't even my friend. There has been a civil word spoken between us since our divorce years ago so forgive me if I don't believe you suddenly came to see me out of the goodness of your heart," Elizabeth told him, her voice quaking with anger. Her fingers knotted into the hospital blanket, and the heartbeat on the monitor started to beep a little bit faster. "I don't want you here. You need to leave now." 

"Elizabeth, don't be that way," Lucky said, looking at her beseechingly. "I know that losing Jake had been difficult, but we can get through this together. We always come back together at the toughest points in our lives. It part of our permanent lock, and why we will always love each other." 

Elizabeth stared at him, unable to believe his gall. Rage flashed in her blue eyes before they narrowed into dangerous slits, and her fingers curled around the strap of her purse in order to bite back the urge to lash out at him. "That permanent lock was a fantasy made up by two naïve teenagers who thought they could take on the world. Time has changed us both, Lucky, and in some ways, not for the better," she told him, frostily. "After our marriage fell apart, I have never once looked at you in that light again. We have been through the ringer three times, and I'm not looking for a fourth, especially after what you did the night of Jake's accident." 

"Elizabeth, Carly needed a donor—" Lucky tried to explain. 

Elizabeth cut him off with an angry swipe of her hand. "There were tests still being ran! I had called for a second opinion to be done by Patrick just in case the first was wrong, and yeah, maybe it wouldn't have come any different than the first. Maybe the tests would have still shown that Jake was brain dead," she said, her voice wobbled with anger and grief. Her shoulders rose with each wrathful breath she drew in, and she glared venomously at him. A dark satisfaction welled up inside of her when she saw Lucky take a step back and a flicker of fear crashed through his eyes. "But you took that away from me. You told the doctors to stop the tests, and then you had my baby cut up for spare parts!" 

"Another child's life was on the line!" 

"Jax had another donor set up. There was no need to do that to Jake," Elizabeth snarled at him, angrily. "And you had no right to make that decision. You aren't Jake's father, you had no right!" 

"Maybe if you hadn't slept with Jason, I would be," Lucky retorted, with a sneer. 

"Do you really think you can hurt me with that? Trying to make me out to be some adulteress and horrible wife, when you know that the truth isn't that simple," Elizabeth told him, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew what he was trying to do. What he always tried to do. He thought if he made her feel guilty or ashamed that she would run with her tail between her legs. That she would give up, and roll over. She wasn't that Elizabeth anymore. She was done being the doormat, done forgiving people when they constantly threw her past in her face over and over to browbeat her into doing what they wanted her to do. It may have taken her years, but she found her spine again, and they would have to pry it from her cold dead fingers. 

"If you had been more of a faithful wife then—" Lucky started, loudly. 

"After your back injury, I endured so much for the sake of your love!" Elizabeth spoke over him, and pointed an accusing finger at his face. "I let you put me through too much abuse, I let my son live that environment when I should have gotten him out of it, but some stupid part of me was so loyal to you! When you got addicted to pills and got violent, I stayed because I believed that I could get through to you. When you constantly accused me of cheating on you with Patrick or Leo or any man who looked at me a little too long and I wasn't, I let it go because I dismissed it as the pills talking. You shoved me around, you cheated on me with Maxie Jones because she was giving you drugs to fuel you addiction, you hid pills in my son's toy box, and you fired off a gun when you were watching Cameron. And every time I told myself I should walk away before I paid the price for that so called love, I let your family guilt me into staying. 

"And the night that I went to Jason—just to talk to him because he only one not trying shove me back to you every time I had enough and was about to walk away—it was after I found you in our bed with Maxie, for the third time," she said, her tone vehement and harsh. She was vibrating with anger and if it hadn't been for the fact she was strapped to so many machines, she wasn't sure she could be trusted not to strangle Lucky. Hell, she may end up deciding to take the machines with her and lunge at him anyways. "It that moment, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I knew that our marriage was over, and I needed a friend—an unbiased friend who would hear me out. I had no way of knowing when I got to Jason that he had just witness Sam, who he had been in love with at the time, rutting on the floor with her stepfather. We talked, we drank, but we never planned on sleeping together. Never planned on giving into the pieces of us that always had been in love with each other, but I don't regret it. I don't regret that night or the fact that it gave me Jake." 

Lucky looked like he had swallowed a lemon. "You are a heartless bitch, you know that?" 

The door was shoved open with enough force for it to slam against the wall and rattled the picture of bird so greatly it fell off. Nicolas Cassidine, one of Elizabeth's few friends who hadn't turned their backs on her when her marriage with Lucky dissolved, stood there with a furious glare on his face. "Lucky, you need to leave," Nicolas told his half-brother, his tone held a bite like the crack of a whip. "Now." 

Lucky looked between the pair, and sneered, "Why are you protecting her? Is she fucking you now?" 

"No, but even if we were that wouldn't be any of your business," Nicolas stated, with a cool eyebrow arched. The Cassidine Prince held himself with the haughty dignity that those of the gentry were famous for, and that always made Lucky bristle. 

"I am your family," Lucky snapped. "She is—" 

"My best friend, the woman you once loved, and the person who has faced down my evil grandmother and drank poison and so much more to protect us and our family," Nicolas listed off, without batting an eye at Lucky's anger. "If you have any respect for the friendship and love you once shared and cherished for Elizabeth, then you'll walk out of that door without another word. Or I'll call hospital security." 

Lucky turned red, his eyes glittered with malice. "Whatever." 

As soon as Lucky stormed out of the room, Nicolas shut the door behind him and picked up the painting off of the floor. He placed it back on the nail, and straightened it out before he made his way over to Elizabeth's bedside. "I'm sorry about that. They never should have allowed him in here," the Prince apologized to Elizabeth, sinking into the seat beside her bed. "And he had no right to treat you that way." 

"The hospital shouldn't have allowed a lot of things, but when does that stop them from screwing stuff up? As for Lucky, I don't think he will every treat me differently Nicolas unless he thinks he is getting something out of it," Elizabeth stated, tiredly. She ran her fingers through her hair, and then looked at Nicolas with a small sheepish smile. "Thanks for having my back though. I know it's not easy because I'm not well liked by the Spencers, and they really are your only family here besides Alexis. And your grandmother isn't worth mentioning, sorry." 

"Don't be. After all the evil things Helena has done, I don't blame anyone for throwing a bit shade at her," Nicolas sighed, heavily. "How are you holding up?" 

"I'd be better if I knew when I was getting out of here," Elizabeth admitted, fiddling with her IV. "I know, I know, it's a bit of a cliché that hospital workers are the worst patients, but I don't want to be here anymore than I have to. Since Jake's death…" She bit her lower lip, glancing around the walls that once had been her sanctuary. Becoming a surgical nurse hadn't been her dream, she had wanted to be a great painter one day, but being a nurse gave her a sense of purpose that painting had lacked. It was a way to help people and save as many lives as possible. Now the walls felt cold and unwelcoming, like she was unwanted intruder and no matter how much reassurances that Epiphany and Patrick gave her, she couldn't shake that feeling away. It hadn't helped that Monica Quartermain, the hospital's Chief of Staff, had made her hatred for Elizabeth very well-known and was the reason Elizabeth had contemplating up and quitting. "I'll just be better when I'm home and with Cameron." 

"I understand that," Nicolas nodded. "I have Alfred picking them up from school. Wasn't sure if you had seen Epiphany yet, but I told her to tell you as soon as you woke up." 

"She did," Elizabeth said, with a small smile. It was a relief to know that Nicolas had stepped up to take care of Cameron, though part of her wondered why her brother hadn't. She supposed with the way things are at the hospital, he might not have been able to get time off. "Thank you for doing that. The doctor said that it was stress and lack of sleep is why I had the seizure and lost consciousness. That I needed to stay hydrated better, and sleep better." 

"Is he prescribing you anything?" Nicolas asked. 

"Sleep medicine," Elizabeth said, nose winkling at the thought of it. Her dreams lately had been in-between strange and nightmarish. Many people would be happy to get rid of those dreams, and have a restful slumber. She didn't want to lose them, despite it all. These dreams caused something to happen inside of her, a feeling deep in her soul that unfurled in the wake of these dreams—something old and powerful, that pushed her onward when she herself felt like giving up and collapsing down. It was her safety net and she needed that safety net. "And he suggested that I go see a therapist." 

Nicolas sighed, giving her a weak smile. "I know you don't want to hear it—" 

"I don't," she said, in a sarcastic singsong voice while giving him a sharp look. 

"—but the doctor may be right, Elizabeth," he continued, arching a brow back at her. He had known since they were teenagers, he had learned to deal with her quirks and sass years ago. "I'm just saying that it might not be a bad idea to talk to someone about it. Someone who doesn't have an opinion on the situation." 

"It's Port Charles, Nicolas," Elizabeth said, jaw set tight. "Everyone has an opinion." 

"That's…unfortunately true." 

Elizabeth sat there, silent for a few moments. Her blue eyes flickered away from the water stain on the ceiling in the far corner of the room to the door and she contemplated her life, and the Lucky that she once loved. There was no trace of him in the angry bitter man who verbally harassed her, and sometimes, she wondered if there had ever had been. "Nicolas, do you ever wonder if Lucky ever really came back? After Helena kidnapped and faked his death," Elizabeth said, wrapping her arms around her midsection. "Sometimes, I wondered if we all saw what we wanted to see when Lucky was brought home. That we were all so thankful and grateful to have Lucky back and for it to be true that we duped ourselves into not believing the angry, bitter person was who he truly was now and that the boy we all loved was gone for good." 

She remembered that time with a mixture of feelings, not a lot of them particularly nice ones. Lucky had been rescued from Helena Cassidine, but where a sweet boy had been, a violent man stood in his place. She ignored it because she, like everyone else, had been so happy for his miraculous return from the dead. She made excuses for his behavior, to the point that she had hurt Jason—whom she had really been in love with at the time even if she hadn't fully realized that until it was too late. Jason left Port Charles to get away from the pain, but before he had left, he had asked Elizabeth to go with him on that snowy night in 2001. Sometimes, she wondered how things would have been different if she had just taken his hand and ran away with him. 

It was one of her biggest regrets. 

Instead, she stayed with Lucky out of obligation to her childhood sweetheart, feeling that she owed him because he had helped her piece herself back together after she had been raped. Everyone constantly reminded her of that, too. Made her feel like she was the only one that could save Lucky from his demons, and she hadn't realized how much of her own identity she had chipped away to try to fix Lucky. She had stopped going out with friends, stopped painting, and if she did anything without him, he would be angry and upset, even if she had just run to grab a hot chocolate at Kelly's. Two days before she walked down the aisle, she broke off the engagement having a horrible epiphany that she would lose herself completely if she married Lucky then and there. 

She just wished that four years later she hadn't let him in again. She wished she hadn't been fooled by his steady and perfect mask that made her believe that he had grown and changed from the angry man that had returned to Port Charles. On the surface, he had appeared so much like the Lucky she had fallen in love with and there was temptation in familiar things and old patterns. He had been so good with Cameron, and it had been so easy to just fall back into contentment instead of trying to face the unknown. But then the vows were said, the marriage sealed in front of loved ones, and slowly the perfect mask fell apart. She saw the resentful, angry man that still lied underneath the smiles and sweet nothings. 

Then he had been hurt while on the job, trying to arrest Manny Ruiz and everything tumbled apart from there. It had been one of the biggest disasters of Elizabeth's life, and there were certain things, she so sorely wished she had done differently. 

Nicolas nodded. "Yeah, I think about it on occasion. I think my grandmother knew that it would hurt us more to have him back, but not have him back. I think it's why she let him be rescued so easily," the dark haired prince said, looking out at the harbor with a frown on his face. "He thinks that you'll forgive him. I know that you won't. You have a big heart and you are capable of forgiving so much, much more than you should, but his actions regarding Jake. You shouldn't have to forgive my brother for that." 

"You know the bitter part of me wonders if he didn't do it just to punish me for loving Jason. Lucky has always hated my friendship and the times it was something more that I had with Jason," Elizabeth whispered out. Her expression was solemn, and eyes were dark with thoughts. "Even after all that Lucky has done, I don't want to think he is capable of that, but in my heart there is just this anger—and it doesn't get quiet, it doesn't let me breath. It claws and it tears into me every second that I am awake. The only thing that makes it ease up is when I hold Cameron." 

"How is Cameron?" Nicolas asked, softly. 

"He is trying to be so strong, but he feels guilty," Elizabeth said, sadly. She wiped the tears away from her face, and she drew in a deep breath trying to compose herself against the onslaught of emotions. "He…he didn't want to play with Jake that night. Ignored me and went to his room in one of those moods that all kids go through, and now he feels that if he had just came downstairs then maybe Jake wouldn't have gone outside. He's is seven years old and he is carrying the weight of his baby brother's death, and nothing I say seems to break through. I have made inquiries to the clinic about setting up therapy for him, but haven't scheduled an appointment. With his nightmares, I think I really have to." 

"The clinic?" Nicolas gave her a confused look. "Why not General Hospital?" 

"I don't want him at General Hospital, especially with Monica acting the way she is. I am adult and I can handle anything Monica dishes out at me, but Cameron shouldn't have to go through that on top of everything else," Elizabeth told him, seriously. 

"Why is Monica giving you such grief?" 

"Because she blames me because she never got to know Jake." 

"What?" Nicolas's eyes widened. "Jason is her son. If anyone owed her the truth about Jake's paternity and existence, it should be him not you. And Monica alienated you with her trying to sue you for custody. Did she really think after that scheme you'd let her around your child? If Sonny or Mike had ever attempted that to get custody of Spencer, I would have been outraged," the Cassidine Prince commented, vehemently. His dark eyes were filled with anger on her behalf, and his arms folded over his chest. 

"Try telling her that," Elizabeth chuckled, darkly. Her shoulders slumped, feeling exhaustion needling at her and she looked at Nicolas beseechingly. "I know you have done a lot already for me. Sticking up for me with Lucky and listening to me prattle onward about my hot mess of a life, but could you do one last thing?" 

"Anything," he smiled. 

"Please ask the doctor when I'm getting out of here," she bemoaned, dramatically. "You know how much I hate being a patient." 

Nicolas pattered her hand, consolingly. "I'll go check on it for you." 

"You are a godsend, Nicolas. Truly." 

* * *

Jason felt his hands clenched into tight fists, watching Lucky leave the room and enter the elevator. He had called Nicolas to let him know about Elizabeth, and encouraged him to be there for her where he couldn't. He swallowed the knot of emotion in his throat, recalling the look of pity and understanding in the other man's gaze when he asked for Nicolas to not mention him to Elizabeth. She was going through so much, and she didn't need him making things that much harder on her. When their relationship ended, Jason had no illusions about the heart broken state he had left her in. His actions thereafter only added to that pain, and he couldn't look at her without a tremendous amount of pain and guilt welling up in side of him. 

He raked a hand down his face, turning to leave. Each step further away from her made him feel that he was carving out his own heart from his chest with a dull wooden spoon, and by the time he walked down all the flights of stairs, he felt hollow and broken inside. He wanted to go in there, to be the one at her side, but he had to fight the impulse with all of his willpower. He made his way through the hallways, and avoided Carly in the parking lot who was there for Jocelyn. He had already checked on his goddaughter, but ever since Carly learned Elizabeth was in the hospital, she had been gnawing at the bit. Carly would never understand his love for Elizabeth, and never would accept that Elizabeth and her boys was the most important thing in Jason's heart. It's why he sacrificed so much to ensure their safety. 

But that hadn't, had it? Jake was dead. Elizabeth was in shambles, and Cameron carried guilt that wasn't his to bear. Somehow, he felt the burden of all of this was on him. On his decision to walk away, but he couldn't voice those thoughts out loud. They got choked in the back of his throat, a painful truth that he would never utter. Twenty minutes later, he arrived home at his penthouse to find Spinelli there working away to upgrade their cyber-security with a bag of Cheetos on the couch beside him, and orange soda bubbling in a glass beside his computer. 

"Greetings, Stone Cold," Spinelli smiled. "How is the Loyal One?" 

"Elizabeth is doing better. She's conscious, and Nicolas is with her right now," Jason said, his voice soft and tired. He shrugged off his leather jacket, and stared at it dispassionately before he slung it carelessly across his desk chair. "Okay, listen. I need you to do some research for me." 

"Hi, Jason!" Molly Davis, the younger half-sister of Sam McCall, said before Jason could finish appearing out of his kitchen area. 

Jason froze, for all of a moment. "What are you doing here?" 

"I came here to see Sam. I have to have help with this science project and wanted to know if she wanted to help me," Molly commented, blithely. "Isn't she with you?" 

"No," Jason shook his head, bewildered at why she would think Sam would be in his penthouse. "Sam would be at her own apartment across town. Did you come here by yourself?" 

"No. I had Kristina drop me off before she went to see her boyfriend, Kiefer. I didn't want to be stuck watching them suck face all evening," Molly said, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "Is Sam coming over later? I can wait around until then." 

"No, Sam isn't coming over," Jason told her, frowning deeply. "I'll have a guard drive you to her place. If she not there, they can take you to your mother." 

Molly peered up at Jason, thoughtfully. "Why not call Sam to come here? I mean, after I'm done with my science project then you two can spend some quality time together," she negotiated, with a sly little smile. 

He gave her a long look. "I'm calling you a car." 

The smile vanished off the little girl's face, and she looked visibly upset. "Wouldn't my way be easier? Besides, Sam and you haven't gone out and done anything. Sam is always at the house for movie nights and stuff, so the least you can do is muster up enough energy to be romantic to her for one night or do you not care about your relationship?" The young girl ranted, cheeks flushed with indignant and anger. 

"What?" Jason said, confused. 

"Uh, Molly, Stone Cold and Fair Samantha are more…reserved about their relationship. It's very private and delicate topic, and not one for such young inexperienced ears such as yourself," Spinelli tried to intervene, but was quickly quieted by the look of disbelief that Jason sent him. 

"But in books and plays, people talk about their love all the time. In books, lovers can't wait to be together, so why are you pretending you two aren't even dating?" Molly demanded, with a stubborn expression on her face. "You should be willing to discuss that with Sam since she got back together with you even after you broke her heart. She is too worried to bring it up, because she is afraid you'll stomp—" 

"Molly, I get that you want to make things better for Sam and you want her happy, she is your sister, but I'm not with Sam," Jason told her, firmly. A deep frown sat upon his brow, and his jaw was clenched tight. His hands were on his hips, and he stared down at the young girl like he didn't know what to make of her or her declarations. "I have helped her and _Spinelli_ ," he stressed, "on a few of their PI cases, but that's it. I don't know where you got the idea that Sam and I had reconciled. We haven't and we never will." 

Molly stared up at him with wide eyes, shocked. "But Sam said after the trip to Mexico that you two reconciled your feels for one another," she whispered out, taken aback by Jason dismissing Sam so completely. "You are like Heathcliff and Catherine from Wuthering Heights. You are destined to be together." 

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Sam told you what?" 

Spinelli lifted his hand, like a school kid waiting to be called on by the teacher. "Uh, Stone Cold, Fair Samantha had given that same impression to me that you two were on way to happy bliss," he said, quietly as if afraid to incur his wrath. "I had wondered because your actions didn't indicant that you were in a relationship, or a happy man. You never showed Sam any affection in public, or even in private that I know of, but I had no reason to believe that the Fair One was being deceitful. I don't think she meant any harm, just was hoping that by putting it out there that she would hope that you'd finally make a move?" 

Jason groaned, raking a hand down his face. "Okay, look, Sam's…elaborate story will have to wait another day. I have bigger concerns to worry about," he shook his head, side to side. It made sense now all the little remarks from Carly and Sonny about how pleased they were that he was taking his own happiness in his hands and living his life like he should. They assumed he was back with Sam. "Molly, I'm calling a car to pick you up." 

"No, I'm not done here," Molly said, defiantly. "I don't understand why you won't get back together with Sam. She is perfect for you. She fits your life completely. You can't just lead her on and then break her heart all over again." 

"Sam knows that I don't see her in that light, and if she does think that we have some chance then she is mistaken," Jason told her, lightly. He wasn't going to be cruel to an eleven year old who only knew a glossed up version of the past, and saw her older sister as some kind of idol to be admired. But he wasn't going to let Molly leave with a misguided impression that Sam had apparently driven into the young girl's mind. "It was never my intention to lead her on, and I will explain that to her, but that will be a discussion that will take place between Sam and I. Not anyone else." Molly pouted, sullenly. She shot glares Jason's back while he called a guard to come and escort her to Sam's so she could finish up her science project. Once the girl had gone, Jason turned to Spinelli to return to their early discussion. "The research I was discussing earlier it's personal," he started, carefully. 

"I gathered since it involves the Maternal One," Spinelli said, hesitantly. 

"I want you to look into what the PCPD have dug up about…" Jason's eyes darted away, his voice catch in his throat and an uncharacteristic uncertainty crossed over his features. In the next moment, his sharp features hardened into determination and his blue eyes flashed like lightning. "I want you to see what the PCPD has discovered about the accident that killed my son. I want to know who is responsible." 

Spinelli inclined his head. "With haste, Stone Cold." 

* * *

_Siwa Oasis_

_Kingdom of Egypt_

_48 BCE_

Grief tasted like ashes in his mouth, Bayek sat there before his son's tomb with his heart so heavy in his chest and his eyes red rimmed from the tears that he shed. He had thought by now that he would have used all his tears up, but his sorrow always took hold tightly and proved him wrong. "Khemu," he whispered his son's name, his head dropped downward. His knees had grown cold and numb, he had sat there for so long. Minutes? Hours? His lungs were so tight, so crushed underneath the weight of his soul that he thought for sure that his anguish would swallow him whole, but then the next breath came. And then the one after that. He continued to thrive and live, and he felt so undeserving of it all. 

He had become angry and dark, twisted by his misery. His son had been a light, bright shining and full of hope. It should be Khemu that still lived, not him. The fate that the Gods had bestowed upon him was a cruel one, a fate created by his own failure and the only way he could continue onward was to see his son's soul into the Field of Golden Reeds, to know that his child did not wander the Duat forever. Thus his labors of bringing the sick masked men to justice and ending whatever terror they sought to unleash here in Siwa nearly a year ago. 

His chest shuddered and contracted with each breath, he did not want to leave this place. He did not want to leave his child here in the cold darkness, but knew that he could not stay. There were still too much to do before either of them could truly rest. He lifted the torch lighting on the candles, the orange light bathed the tomb in burnt gold and he left an offering of fruits, gold, and a dagger so that Khemu may guard himself from whatever lingered in the Duat. "Soon, my son, I will bring you rest," he promised, his voice jagged and he rose to his feet slowly. Leaving the tomb felt like a betrayal, Bayek could not stop himself from feeling this way or the renewed strength of his grief that made each step forward that much harder. 

But his purpose gave him something to cling to. 

So he walked across the desert sands with the gazelle upon his shoulder; the dead animal a fitting metaphor for the true weight that he carried upon his soul. 

* * *

He reached Siwa before the sun started to set, and went about skinning the animal for its hide. Thoughts and feelings swirled around his head like a thundercloud, and the villagers stayed away from him as if sensing his black mood. He would never forgive himself for what happened to his child. He could only find solace in bringing the evil responsible to justice. His mind then thought of his beautiful wife, Aya. She too hunted for justice, shattered just as he had been at their child's death. Aya was using her family's contacts in Alexandria to learn anything more about the masked men and their unclear purpose. He longed to be reunited with her, but their paths had diverged for a reason. Soon those same paths would draw them close once more, he could only persevere all that he came against until that day and then they shall complete their task of vengeance. 

Khemu deserved no less. 

His golden eyes lifted, as if drawn by Ra himself to the sun that loomed in the sky and haloed in its light was his home that sat on top of the hill. It had been boarded up, and abandoned. His heart twisted into a sharp knot. It felt like a lifetime ago that he lived there—not as the man he is now—but who he had been before. A father, a protector, a husband in a life that had been full of joy and plenty; now all he the joys he had were few, all the plenty had withered away and while he still was a husband, he was a father no longer and could he call himself a protector when he failed his own child? He dropped his gaze back down to his work, and after he got the pelt free, he portioned out the meat. Hepzefa would have much use of it, feeding not only himself but those that starved in Siwa. 

He let Hepzefa know about the meat, and his friend thanked him. 

Bayek made his way through town, cautious of the guards that patrolled the streets and entered the blacksmith shop. While Bayek could repair his own armor, the blacksmith could do it more efficiently and faster than he. 

Benipe, the local smith, turned at the sound of his footsteps and blinked in shock. "Bayek, is that really you? I heard whispers of your return, but never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes," Benipe greeted the Medjay, with a wide smile. "It is good that you have returned to Siwa, even if only for a short time. The town needs a Medjay more than ever." 

"I will do what I can, Benipe," Bayek dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I have brought animal hides to repair my armor, and I was hoping that you'd be able to take on the labor. I had thought to do the task myself, but time is of the essences besides you have a far more skilled touch then I when it comes to such a craft. I have gold enough to pay you for the work." 

"Ah, Bayek, I would need no pay from you," Benipe told him, hands wrung together and his head shaking side to side. "But alas, I cannot give you the aid in which you need. The Guard Captain took my tools, claiming I was rebel off all things." 

"He was not wrong," Bayek smirked. 

Benipe snorted, lightly. "True enough. Still I am lucky that it was just my livelihood that those _neket iadet_ soldiers took and not my life along with it. Until I can replace my equipment, Siwa is without a blacksmith." 

"What of the common people's needs? A blacksmith is more than just crafting weapons," Bayek stated, frowning heavily. 

"You think those soldiers care? They won't weep for our suffering not matter how little or great. I am sorry, Bayek," Benipe sighed, regretfully. "I cannot help you. Not until I get my hammer and tongs back. And I have to get that ugly as Apep Captain off my ass!" 

"Where is this captain?" Bayek asked. "If he confiscated the tools, then he may still have them." 

"At the foot of the hills west of here, Camp Shetjeh," Benipe replied. "Though I don't hold out hope for my tools. The bastard has likely melted it down for scrap metal." 

Bayek racked a hand across his unkempt beard. "I will go there, see if I can find your tools. At the very least, you will not have to deal with Captain any longer," the Medjay promised, with a sharp nod. He left the skins with Benipe, and made his way through the village. His gait brisk and lethal like a leopard's, he made it to the camp within minutes and knelt down, hiding in the thick grass that stood nearly four feet high. He closed his golden eyes, his soul searching for that connection that he held with Senu and a rush flooded through, as his eyes suddenly became her sight above. It was a strange, exhilarating feeling that coursed through him when he became one with Senu. 

It was a warm sensation that trickled down from the roots of his hair down to the tips of his toes. A level of awareness that went beyond most weren't capable of, and in that moment, he was not just a man. He was an eagle, feeling the wind soar beneath Senu's wings and seeing through her eyes as if they were his own. Their minds were melded into one, and together they scouted out the camp. Senu circled Camp Shetjeh above, and their shared gaze moved to pinpoint enemies and more. There were eight guards in total; three slumbered, night watchman no doubt. The Captain was up in the tower, while two patrolled around and the last two ate by the campfire. 

Bayek opened his eyes, coming back into himself. 

The brazier sat up in a tower to the south side of the camp. If lit, then it would signal soldiers from afar that the camp was under attack and needed reinforcements. He would need to set a trap, coat the wood in a potent mixture of powder that would exploded if anyone dared to light the flame. He used the grass and fence to cover him from plain sight, it would not do good to be spotted now. He planned to set a trap on the brazier then make his way to the south side and climb up to the Captain's post above, hopefully without any soldiers setting eyes upon him. The less damage he did, the less repercussions the villagers would face and taking out the Guard Captain would leave the camp and its soldiers in disarray for the time being. 

He darted out of the grass, sliding across the sand swiftly before he rushed into the thicket of bushes, his golden gaze sharp and narrowed at the soldiers who sat around the campfire. They did not appear to notice a thing, and the Medjay held still as a patrolling guard passed by where he hid. His heartbeat jumped at the base of his throat, and he hurriedly scaled the nearby wall. He just managed to slip over the edge before the guard came back around. He held his breath, straining his ear to listen and only released the air in his lungs when the soldier continued his patrol. He slipped his hands into the satchel at his waist, and retrieved the explosion mixture. He poured it over the wood inside of the brazier, his golden gaze bounced around the camp below uneasily. With the deed down, he dropped from the tower and rolled into the bushes below. 

"Did you hear that?" A voice from nearby asked. 

Bayek pressed his back against the wall, his body shielded from sight by the tent and his hand rested upon the pommel of his blade. His heart hammered against his ribcage, and his jaw set taut with weary anticipation of a battle. He heard two footsteps towards his hiding spot, the way the dried grass crackled beneath feet and he started to pull his sword free when a second voice halted him. 

"Must have been your imagination," the second voice said, with a snort. "No one would dare be skulking around here. Eat your food and be quiet." 

Bayek thanked the gods when he heard the footsteps retreat. His hand fell away from his sword, and he carefully made his way to the south side of the cliff. It would be a bit of a climb, and treacherous to say the least, but there were no soldiers here. No one would believe a soul would dare or could climb such terrain, but his father had taught him how to when he had been naught a boy. Where others would face an obstacle, Bayek saw limitless possibilities. His fingers dug into the hard stone, careful to find handholds and footholds to help his ascent upward. 

His breath was sharp and harsh by the time he reached the top, and his flexed his fingers to relieve the stinging tension once he was on solid ground. He eyed the Guard Captain that sat in the tower, his back faced away from Bayek's position with a drink in hand and languid posture. Sliding the bow off of his back, Bayek notched back an arrow and made sure to be careful with his aim. He adjusted the position of the bow to compensate for the light wind that rolled on by, and then released the arrow. It sliced through the air with a sharp whoosh before it slammed into the back of the Guard Captain's neck. The man let out a wet choking noise, clawing at his throat while Bayek rushed up to him quickly, and ended his misery with a dagger to the heart. 

The body dropped the ground, and Bayek let out a sigh of relief. For once, everything went according to plan and he could avoid for the time being a hard fight. He stepped over the dead man, and he started searching through the Captain's belongings. It was not long that he had found Benipe's tools which had been tossed into a barrel with other pieces of scrap metal. He looped the tools through his belt and made the long climb down. His muscles and bones ached, but that did not slow him down one bit. His feet hit the sand, his eyes cast upward towards the sky and his feet led him away the camp. He did not know how long it would take for the other soldiers to realize their Captain was dead, but it was best to be far away from there before that happened. 

He walked across the shifting sands, his feet leading him and it wasn't until he was at the base of the hill which his house sat that he realized where he had unintentionally gone. There was a heavy pain that settled upon his heart, his golden eyes looked at the same boarded up home with great sorrow and he was tempted to turn away. To turn his back and not face the pain, but he couldn't turn away. He couldn't hide from it and he found himself marching up to the building that was once his home with his hands balled into fists at his sides. Using his sword, he hacked away at the boards until they were falling apart and he ripped the last piece away roughly with his hand. He let out a low grunt and let the wood fall to the ground. There was a moment where he hesitated, lingering in front of that threshold before he took a step into the house. It was cold, quiet and dark. It was like stepping into a holy resting place where only spirits and gods dared linger, and Bayek felt like he was a trespasser. He could see the images of his life before Khemu's death, simple in its splendor bur more precious than all the gold in Egypt. Aya teaching Khemu how to read and write in both the Hieratic Script and Greek language by the fireplace, her head would lift just as he crossed the threshold and the secretive smile that curved on her beautiful lips every time she saw him. He would stand there for a moment, soaking in the scene before Khemu would realize that he was home and launch himself across the house into his arms. 

His arms _ached_ to hold his child again. 

The house was empty now, a hollow mockery of the warm and loving home that it once had been. It crushed his soul to see it so barren, covered in dust and cobwebs. Scarabs scattered across the floor, running from the vibrations his feet made as he stepped further into the house. Everything had changed with Khemu's death. The only way he knew how to overcome his grief was through his path of vengeance, whereas Aya had chosen to return to her place of birth, Alexandria. Aya could not deal with the depths of her grief nor know how to handle Bayek's quest for revenge, and the last he had heard was that she was studying at the Grand Library that housed thousands of scrolls with her cousin, Phanos. His heart squeezed tight at the pain of being so far away from his beloved, but understood that she grieved differently than he did. He only hoped that Aya found what she was looking for in those scrolls, knowing one day soon they would be reunited when his journey came to an end. 

But would it be the same? Their love was still there, he was sure of it but could it endure all the hardship foisted upon them and come out unscathed? Aya was the only thing he was certain of in the violent world his life had become, but still doubts plagued him. They had both been changed by Khemu's death, and sometimes he was not sure if it was for the better. His gaze fell upon a crate in the corner of the room just below the staircase, covered in a thick layer of dust and undisturbed for quite some time. Curious as to why it was left, Bayek walked over to it and knelt down on one knee. He lifted the lid of the crate with ease, and a huff of surprise fell from his lips at the sight of his father's old sword. 

He had forgotten about it in his haste, and realized that Aya must have left it here, knowing that he would return at some point in time. He carefully picked up the blade, testing the sharp edge against his thumb. He let out a slight hiss when the metal bit into his skin, but was pleased to find that it was still sharp after all this time. He would take the weapon with him, it held not only sentimental value but one could not have too many weapons in these volatile lands. He cut off a bit of fabric from his cloak, using it to bind the blade to his belt. He would see what wares Benipe had to get a proper sheath or hold for his extra sword. He went to close the lid when something small caught his eye, and he went still for a moment. 

His hand reached back into the crate, and he withdrew a small figurine. 

It was Khemu's favorite toy—a _ba_ -bird carved out of stone and ivory. It was the visage of a human head with a _hedjet_ headdress, and the body of a bird rested upon a rectangular base. He stared down at with a lost and helpless look before he brought it to his mouth. He closed his eyes tightly and imagined he was pressing a kiss to Khemu's forehead, like he did every night before he tucked his son safely away in his bed. It was a poor substitute; the cold stone just reminded him of the tomb in which his child would lay for all eternity. He closed the chest, and slipped the toy into his satchel. The toy would be a little piece, a little reminder that would help keep him steady on the uneven and darkened path that he walked. 

Bayek rose to his feet, and walked out of the house. 

He knew in his heart that he would never return. 

* * *

_March 25, 2011_

_Port Charles, New York_

_General Hospital_

It was nearly six o'clock in the evening before Patrick started the paperwork to discharge her, and she stood out in the waiting room dressed in her normal clothes once more. Thank goodness, she hated hospital gowns to the extreme. A curse fluttered out of her mouth when her eyes caught those of her brother, Steven Lars Webber, across the hospital hub, and she turned to the right to try to make a hasty escape. Sadly, Steven with his long legs managed to reach her side with a few lengthy strides, and his arm grasped her elbow in an uncompromising grip. Her entire body went rigid, and her teeth gnashed together as she fought the instinct to lash out at Steven. Her blue eyes glared daggers at her brother, and she jerked her arm free from his grasp. "Don't come up behind me and grab me like that," she told him, the muscles of her jaw rippled as she clenched her teeth. "You know why I hate. You know better than to do that." 

"I just wanted to talk to you," Steven said, hands up in surrender. His face was severe, with disapproval etched into every line of his face and his dark eyes were narrowed. "You could have ended up real hurt, you know that? Walking off like you did only to collapse?" 

"I really don't need a lecture right now, so why don't you save it for another day. I'll be sure to schedule you in for next week," Elizabeth retorted, a sharp edge to her voice. 

"Do you think you are being funny, Elizabeth?" He demanded, not amused. "We were worried sick over you. We are trying to be there for you and trying to help you out, and you are pushing everyone away." 

"Steven, did it ever occur to you that I need space?" she said, rubbing her tired eyes. "That I am not ready to talk about any of this when any of you. That I am trying to remember how to breathe, and be a functional human being, and take of Cameron without adding all your expectations on top of that." _Especially when you won't actually hear out my feelings or thoughts, but just press upon what you think I should do then scolded my like an errant child if I don't do as I am told_ , she added, in her mind. 

Her brother, however, was not going to let it simply lie. "Elizabeth, how much sleep have you been getting lately? You look barely put together, and like you haven't been taking care of yourself. How are you taking care of Cameron, if you can't take of yourself?" He demanded, with his hands on his hips. 

"Cameron is doing just fine. I can take care of my child and Nicolas has my back," Elizabeth retorted, with a dark look at him. "I may be holding on by a thread, but I have never been some fragile flower that crumbles underneath pain or grief. I have survived several types of hell, and I will survive this one." 

"I'm just worried, peanut," Steven replied, with a tired sigh. The stern look melted away into something more contrite and genuine. "I just wish you'd take a vacation to California. Visit our sister and put Port Charles with all its drama behind you." 

"Cameron needs stability. His life has been upended, and he is trying so hard to understand what it means that his little brother is now in heaven and that means he won't get to see him anymore," Elizabeth said, her voice low and raw with emotion. "I can't just whisk him off, at the top of a hat. Maybe when summertime arrives I will consider it, but right now, I just need you and everyone else to give me space." 

"I am only trying to do what is best for you," Steven said, softly. 

"Steven, let me decide what is best for me," Elizabeth told her brother, wearily. "I appreciate that you feel the need to step in and be supportive, but at the end of the day, I have to be the one to make these decisions. I am the one who has to live my life, and I can't let anyone else do it for me." 

Steven pinched the ridge of his nose, and exhaled noisily. "Alright, if you don't want to talk to me about your personal life, then why don't you tell me what's going in other things? Like that business that you were looking into investing in? How did that go for you?" 

Elizabeth wondered if Steven genuinely wanted to make small talk. She loved her brother, but so often the love of her family and friends came with a price. They all had this idyllic vision of her life where she was happily married with Lucky, and when she made choices that didn't fit that vision, she was treated by the plague by them until she caved into pressure. But she wasn't that girl anymore. She hadn't been for a few years now, and she wasn't reverting back to old habits now. "I decided against investing in Abstergo. There was something about the investors that…put me on edge," Elizabeth admitted, with a slight shrug of her shoulder. She walked over to the Nurses Hub hoping to speak to someone about her release papers, and if she would be out of here in time to take Cameron out to Kelly's. 

Something flickered in Steven's eyes, too quick to catch. "Are you sure? That is a big opportunity to let pass you by," he said, his tone idly. 

She spared him a quick look out of the corner of her eye. "You were the one against me investing the money Jason gave me in the first place, going on about how it had been blood money and that I should just give it back to him," Elizabeth stated, with an eyebrow arched upward. "Suddenly you are all for it. Why is that?" 

"I just figured given the fact that Monica been giving you trouble that you might not want to stick around here much longer. You wouldn't quit unless you had a different way to support yourself is all," Steven said, with a shrug of his shoulder. "This investment could potentially set you up for life." 

"Or would be a complete waste of money and time," she countered, with a twitch of her lips. "That money was meant to be there as security for Cameron and Jake, it's why Jason set up the account. While I would love to invest it, and make sure they would never want for anything their entire life, I don't want to gamble away their future. But you are right about one thing. I don't think I am going to be sticking around to this hospital much longer." 

Steve went to say more, but his pager on his waistline went off. He checked it then let out a low curse. "I have to go, but promise me, we'll talk later?" He asked, with an imploring look. "And not just about the business stuff, or anything like that. That we will talk about the important stuff, too after you have your space." 

"Yeah, we'll talk later," Elizabeth promised. She watched Steve rush off, and let out a deep sigh before she turned on heel. Elizabeth walked up to the counter, and turned away from her brother. She saw Nurse Santiago standing there, and started to inquire about her paperwork when Monica entered the Nurses' Station. She ignored the doctor the best she could, and asked the nurse, "Hey, Sabrina. Has Patrick finished up my release forms?" 

Sabrina opened her mouth, but Monica intruded upon the conversation. "I'll take care of this, Nurse Santiago. We have a patient in emergency room 4 that needs someone to go take his vitals," Monica ordered, passing the patient charter to Sabrina. The young nurse gave Elizabeth a quick, sympathetic look before rushing off before she too ended up on the great Dr. Quartermain's bad side. 

Elizabeth schooled her features into something detached, but still polite. "Dr. Quartermain, all I need is my release papers. I just need to sign them so I'm no longer considered the hospital's responsibility and get home to my son," she commented, just wanting to get this over with. She had a very long day, and it was catching up with her. "He is not having a good time right now, and as his mom I need to be there for him." 

"You don't want to play the mother card with me," Monica countered, her tone clipped. Her finger smashed the keys of the keyboard as she pulled the necessary information up on the computer. 

"Excuse me?" Elizabeth shot her a piercing look. There was a pulsing sensation; it started at the nape of her throat before spiking upward through her skull with painful precision. A thunderous headache that started to chip at Elizabeth's careful compromised mask of infinite patience and her brows furrowed together into a knot. "You know what? I don't want to know why or what you are trying to imply. Please just find the paperwork, and then we can get out of each other's hair." 

"I'm implying that you use your children as pawns," Monica stated, frigidly. She sent Elizabeth a haughty and dark stare. "And you use your so-called grief to latch onto a taken man." 

Elizabeth's eyes flashed dangerously. "How dare you? I haven't even put my son in the ground yet and I will be grieving for the loss of him for the rest of my life, you of all people should understand how that feels," she told Monica, her tone filled with brittle anger. She looked upon Monica with a look of revulsion and loathing, not believing the woman would stoop so low right now. 

"It's not the first time you've been a victim for Jason, Elizabeth. You've come between Jason and Sam before, and that little display yesterday in your hospital—" 

"Monica, it was the fever! I don't even remember it!" Elizabeth snapped, glaring daggers at the woman. Her hands shook like fists at her side, her chest rose and fell with wrathful breaths. "I would never have leaned on Jason otherwise, but even if I were to talk to Jason or go to him for help, it wouldn't be me playing some victim. It never has been me being a victim and wanting Jason to ride to rescue! You know nothing about the depths of my relationship with Jason. Jason and I have known each other for over a decade. We've been friends, we've been more than friends, we've been bad for each other and we've been good for each other. We have a connection through our history and our child that won't change just because of time or any other reason. If Emily could see you now," she added, with a critical glance up and down the woman in front of her, "she would be ashamed." 

She marched off, ignoring all else Monica had to say about the release paper or more jabs. She pressed the button to call the elevator with more force than necessary, and murmured a prayer when they opened. She slid in past Carly Corinthos—Jason's self-proclaimed best friend and president of the Hate Elizabeth Club since 1999—and she pressed the buttons for the bottom floor, when she realized Carly was blocking the doors from sliding shut. "Is there something you need?" She asked, her expression implying that there had better not be. 

"Look, I know that Jason was the one that found you up on Vista Point, but don't think that this means that he will just drop everything—" Carly started to sprout off, but Elizabeth wasn't having it. 

"Yeah, no," Elizabeth said, shoving Carly out of the way and sighed in relief when the elevator doors slide shut before the blond could retaliate. She leaned her head back, bumping it against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. Closing her eyes, she took deep cleansing breaths and tried to calm herself. Some days, she really felt like she was going to push off the deep end and end up taking everyone in Port Charles with her. She pushed all the words and people that didn't matter to the back of her mind, and just told herself that everything was going to be alright once she got home to Cameron. 

Her home was the only refuge she felt that she had left. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References and Languages:  
> 1.) Neket Iadet (Egyptian) Piece of Shit  
> Neket means: means some, a little, piece  
> Iadet means: misery, woes, pestilence  
> So I'm not sure how it translate into "piece of shit", but that's the official translation in AC: Origins. (Thanks to the people and posts on reddit for helping me figure this out)  
> 2.) Hedjet (Egyptian) the white crown of Upper Egypt.  
> 3.) Ba (Egyptian) The spiritual manifestation of a person at the time of their death. *Additionally the Ba-Bird is believed to be the emblem of ascension of the soul after death. In hieroglyphs and art it is depicted as a bird with a human head, possibly adorned with a headdress or disk though there are some that are without it.*  
> Bits of GH Dialogued used from: 9/24/08, 10/13/09, and 11/17/11  
> Action Scenes: This chapter didn't offer a lot of action scenes with Bayek fighting, but instead focus on his subterfuge for avoiding unsavory odds. He couldn't outright kill all the soldiers without major backlash befalling Siwa, but the Captain was a problem. Given the rebellion and such, if Bayek killed him without anyone noticing, the soldiers wouldn't have a clear culprit to pin it on and likely would believe the rebels took the man's life. This won't happen every time, especially the Temple of Amun scenes that will be coming up, but it is very much a piece of Assassins Creed-the hiding, sneaking and killing people-and I wanted to showcase that as much as the battle scenes.  
> Khemu's Toy: I am not entirely sure what Khemu's toy actually is, I haven't played the game in a while so I haven't gone into the inventory to get a better look at it then the brief scene in which Bayek finds it. It has a human head, with a head dress similar to a pharaoh's (so obviously a very important figure) and the body of animal. The closest guess I could figure out researching ancient Egyptian lore and gods was the Ba-Bird.  
> Reflections: There are going to be moments where the future reflects the past. Like Bayek coming across Khemu's toy is like the opening scene to this story where Elizabeth has Jake's yellow motorcycle. Bayek being helped by Hepzefa is reflected by Nicolas defending Liz from Lucky and talking to her about how she was doing, and Bayek being tended to by Rabiah is reflected by Epiphany talking and taking care of Liz. There are other beats through the story that will line up and reflect, I will try to make them happen in the same chapter if I can (can't promise all reflections happen like that), but that depends on the flow of the overall story if I can succeed.  
> Author's Note: The Plot is Rolling with all the pieces coming together! It was time to broaden what is going on beyond Elizabeth's perspective, such as the scene with Sam/Carly and then the scene with Devane/Dante. I know AC fans who didn't watch GH are probably like this way overdramatic, like why would the PCPD allow Sam anywhere near an investigation given all the bad blood between her and Elizabeth? It happened on the show. To me it seemed contrived, in a way to make Sam seemed changed and redeemed from the woman who watched a child get kidnapped and more. I love Kelly Monaco, the actress who plays Sam, but this storyline I wasn't buying it. Was Lucky Spencer all that bad as the writer is writing? Yes, he was. Don't get me wrong Elizabeth made mistakes herself, but Lucky even when she wasn't making mistakes had a controlling and violent attitude towards during and after his addiction. It wasn't healthy, and I never liked him since. Was Monica Quartermain that bad? Yes, she was bad, too. She berated Elizabeth for not knowing Jake when it had been Elizabeth and Jason's decision to keep him safe. She was hateful to Elizabeth, and on the show, they have never cleared the air between the two to my liking to rectify this. Furthermore, no, Lucky is not Rubjek's reincarnation. I get that some might jump to that conclusion given Elizabeth's vehement reaction to him, and how she felt the same anger that Bayek felt towards Rubjek. It is as simple as this, Elizabeth views Lucky a bit responsible for Jake's death. Those secondary tests could have shown Jake was alright, but Lucky went behind her back and did what he did. Rubjek as everyone should know had some part in a tragic event that had destroyed and upended Bayek's life, so that's why the anger is the same. There are all four people that had been reincarnated, primarily Bayek as Elizabeth Webber, but the others will be revealed as the story goes on. I'm not sure if anyone else will be reincarnated beyond the four chosen, but it's idea I am toying with.  
> RRs are appreciated.


End file.
